


Better Than Perfect

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-05-07
Updated: 2003-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-15 12:57:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14790938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: It's Josh and Donna's Assistant Anniversary. Josh has plans. As usual, they don't work.





	1. Better Than Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Better Than Perfect**

**by:** Ygrawn

**Character(s):** Josh and Donna, with some ensemble  
**Pairing(s):** J/D  
**Category(s):** Romance, Humor  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Disclaimer:** I don’t own Josh and Donna et al. There are references to real people herewith, and I don’t own them either.   
**Summary:** It's Josh and Donna's Assistant Anniversary. Josh has plans. As usual, they don't work.  
**Author's Note:** I’m Australian, and this was begun before Bartlet’s 3rd SotU. This swaps between Josh and Donna’s POV, and starts with Josh’s. And for reasons that will soon become obvious, 17 People and the disputed anniversary didn't happen. 

Just after the campaign began, Leo’s assistant of seven years, Jean, decided to retire. He interviewed nearly fifteen women before he found Margaret. 

Toby and I sat in on the interviews, and Leo is damn picky. He thought the interviewees were too abrupt, too flaky, too quiet, too young, or not enough of something. After five hours, I was ready to strangle Leo and blame Toby. 

Margaret’s appointment was at three-thirty, but she arrived at three o’clock, and waited outside Leo’s office. He saw her through his open door, whilst we waited for another woman who was running twenty minutes late. 

“Sorry for the wait,” Leo apologized. 

Margaret smiled cheerfully. “I don’t think you create a very good impression by being late. It’s always better to be early.” 

Leo is like Stalin when it comes to punctuality, and it’s my personal opinion that Margaret got the job right then and there. 

“Are you ready now?” he asked her. 

“Certainly, Mr. McGarry.” She stepped into the office. “I’m Margaret Whelan. And just to let you know, the woman handling your phones just told Senator Kennedy’s office you were too busy to speak to him.” 

“She what?” Toby said, in that soft, deadly voice he’s perfected. 

“That was Senator Kennedy’s assistant on the other line. I know Sandra - we worked together. I can get Senator Kennedy back on the phone, if you’d like.” 

“I’d like that very much, Margaret,” Leo said. “And you have the job.” 

Margaret tilted her head. “You don’t want to interview me, Mr. McGarry?” “It’s Leo, and I’m don’t need to interview you, Margaret. You’re hired.” 

Three minutes later, Margaret was re-organizing Leo’s desk and asking if Senator Kennedy was free. Leo’s been a nicer person since. No, really - he has. 

Sam’s first assistant on the campaign was a woman called Fifi L. Wilde, although I the term ‘assistant’ loosely. She had trouble answering the phone and chewing gum at the same time and her filing system was based on wherever she was standing when she had the piece of paper in her hand. 

Fifi wasn’t her real name. She was born Sarah-Jane, but she wanted to be a movie star, and needed a name that screamed ‘famous’. 

Don’t ask what the L stood for. 

Sam inherited Fifi at Gage Whitney. She started in probate, but within a month, was shuffled through mergers and acquisitions, accounting, and pro bono, before she was fobbed off on Sam, who didn’t have the heart to fire her. 

So, when we recruited Sam, Fifi came along. 

Three weeks after they arrived, I took Sam to lunch whilst Leo fired Fifi for failure to perform any of her job functions. Sam returned to find the phone ringing and nobody answering it. “Nothing’s changed,” he shrugged. 

Sam survived without an assistant until after the election, when he hired Kathy, because his friend knew somebody whose cousin’s teacher’s podiatrist’s dog’s vet...you get the picture. Somebody knew Kathy was looking for a job. 

Of all the assistants, Kathy is the most qualified, with a Masters in Early Modern European History. This is one of Sam’s argument trump cards with Toby, who replies that his assistant doesn’t steal his food. 

Oh, and it stood for Lavyrle. 

Bonnie was also hired when we reached the White House. She and Toby have a clearly defined relationship: she takes care of the administration work, and keeps his work environment as distraction-free as possible, and he tries not to piss her off. 

The story of Toby and Ginger is very different. 

After we won the nomination and asked Hoynes to be Veep, we went to his headquarters to discuss strategy. Toby was walking down a hallway when he ran into a sobbing Ginger. She mumbled something, then hurried towards the bathroom. 

This is the part of the story Bonnie and Ginger love, and Toby hates. 

“Toby was,” Bonnie says, every time she tells her part, “So concerned about Ginger that he went into the ladies bathroom after her.” 

At this point, Ginger takes up the tale, whilst Toby bellows something about running the country instead of exchanging pointless chitchat. 

Ginger ignores him. “He handed me his handkerchief under the door, and said he was Toby Ziegler, Bartlet’s Communications Director. Then he asked why I was crying. I said nothing. And what did Toby ask me next?” Ginger always pauses for effect. “He asked if I was crying because of Hoynes’ social security policy!” 

The rest of the story goes like this: one of Hoynes’ cronies put his hand on Ginger’s ass after she made it clear she didn’t want to go out with him. Ginger, a true Jersey girl, promptly kneed him in the groin. Outraged, she went to her boss. 

Hoynes told Ginger if she wanted to keep her job, she’d keep quiet. Toby ran into Ginger after she’d emerged from Hoynes’ office, bawling her eyes out. 

When Ginger told him what had happened, Toby went to town. 

He told Hoynes that if he ever tried to cover up something as serious as sexual harassment again, Toby would personally destroy Hoynes’ career so completely, he wouldn’t be able to run for President of the Georgetown Elementary PTA. 

Then, Toby offered Ginger a job as his assistant. Between them, Kathy, Bonnie and Ginger run the Communications Department, and Hoynes’ staffers don’t sneeze in each other’s direction without checking with their boss that it’s okay. 

Toby is Ginger’s hero, Ginger is Toby’s symbol of the good fight. 

When CJ joined the campaign, she poached Carol from the AFL-CIO, and the brunette is now the darling of the pressroom. After CJ, obviously. 

Although her spelling leaves a lot to be desired, she knows the three words in English that start with ‘ky’, so the President approves of her. She also knows the editors of every major newspaper and television network in alphabetical order. 

All up, Margaret, Cathy, Carol, Bonnie and Ginger have worked for seven Members of Congress, a newspaper, three press secretaries, a handful of lobby groups and a Secretary of Defence. They have two Bachelors of Arts; a Bachelor of Public Relations (Carol); a Bachelor of Commerce (Bonnie), and Kathy’s Masters in Early Modern European History. 

And then there’s Donna. 

**** 

It’s our anniversary. Our Assistant Anniversary. It’s three years since Donna started working for me. Or, since she was assigned to me by ‘Betsy’, overstated things, and took over my life. 

Here’s an idea of what’s expected of me today. 

Leo took Margaret to lunch at Salieri’s. Toby gave Ginger and Bonnie their the day off and treated them to an Elizabeth Arden spring day. I was surprised he knew who Elizabeth Arden was, let alone the fact that spring days do not refer to the days that fall between March 1st and May 31st. Sam gave Kathy a giant donut, and took her to Madame Butterfly. CJ took Carol to the ballet. 

Assistant anniversaries are important in our office, and I know Donna expects me to top the others, so she can claim to have the best boss in the building. 

Lunch at Salieri’s would send me into overdraft; if I voluntarily gave Donna the day off the world would come to an end; and I hate the opera and ballet and I won’t sit through either of them, even to please Donna. 

Until three days ago, I thought I was screwed. Then I had a flashing light bulb and came up with a plan. I even passed said plan by my mother, so it isn’t one of those half-cocked Joshua Lyman ideas that end badly. 

I have organized flowers. Lots and lots and lots of flowers, to be delivered to our bullpen first thing in the morning, so they’re there when she arrives. 

I am giving Donna a raise. I discussed it with Leo a month ago, and Margaret organized the paperwork, pending approval from the Budget Committee. 

I’m taking her to dinner at St. Jude’s, because Donna’s been bugging me to take her there for months. 

After dinner, I’m taking her to the opening night of the New York Philharmonic playing Mozart’s Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. It still disconcerts me to listen to music, but I can sit through that for Donna. 

Finally, I’m giving her jewellery. 

If that doesn’t make Donna the happiest woman in D.C., I can only think of one other thing I could give her that would do that. And even though I’m certain she’d be the happiest woman ever if I gave her _that_ , we can’t go there. 

Really. We can’t. 

******** 

I woke up this morning with a fluttery feeling in my stomach, and practically bounded out of bed into the shower. Pathetic, right? 

Mock all you want to, but this is my - our - day. 

I have to maintain my standing as the Girl with the Best Boss in the Building, and if Josh lets me down, I will never speak to him again. 

Except to tell him when he’s late for Senior Staff. And to let him know who’s on line one, because that’s part of my job description. And to warn him when CJ or Leo is on the warpath. I just won’t banter with him. Well, maybe a little, if he needs cheering up, because an Unhappy Josh makes an Unhappy Donna. And... 

Yes, I’m pathetic. 

I washed my hair last night; I’m wearing my most-expensive suit and my best shoes; I’ve put on the extortionately expensive perfume that I only wear on very special occasions, and I’m wearing my very best jewellery. 

I avoid the cats as I eat breakfast so I don’t get fluff on my stockings, and I’m so deliriously happy, I sing along with the radio all the way to work and laugh at the breakfast shows, instead of berating them for their political inaccuracies as I usually do. I don’t even stop smiling and singing when I reach Dupont Circle. 

I hum all the way through security, and I smile brightly at all the people I pass in the corridors, even the people who work in Hoynes’ office. 

I know it’s only our Assistant Anniversary. He’s probably not going to tell me that he appreciates me, because displays of emotion make Josh uncomfortable. 

But I don’t care! I get to legitimately hug my boss today. 

I walk past CJ’s office, planning to greet her and Carol and revel in the knowledge that today is my - our - day. However, they’re not there, which is odd. 

I look over to the Communications bullpen. I can see other staffers, but no Bonnie, Ginger or Kathy. 

Curiouser and curiouser. 

I backtrack, and glance down the hall to Leo’s office, and discover that Margaret is also missing. Frowning, I head back down the corridor and turn into the Operations bullpen. 

And stop dead in my tracks. 

Oh...dear...God. There are...condoms. 

Everywhere. And I mean everywhere. On my desk, on the filing cabinet, garnishing my computer, surrounding the phone, scattered around my desk and in front of Josh’s door. I can see all the colours and patterns of the rainbow. 

And there are flavours. 

Who knew they made an aniseed-flavoured condom? Who would want to...I’m not finishing that sentence. I can even see one that apparently glows in the dark...I’m not finishing that thought. 

I’m vacillating between humiliation, confusion, and the desire to seek and destroy whoever did this. The desire to seek and destroy is the strongest. 

At least I now know where everyone is. They’re standing around my desk, in various stages of horror (the assistants), confusion (Sam), and amusement (Toby). CJ looks ready to kill somebody. 

“Donna,” Margaret says, catching sight of me. 

“Morning,” I manage. “Um...what...what is all this?” 

“We don’t know,” Kathy answers. “We were hoping you would.” 

I look over Ginger’s head at CJ. In unison, we say, “Josh.” 

**** 

I’m storming down the hall towards the Oval Office thirty seconds later, when Josh emerges from the outer office. 

“Joshua Lyman!” I bellow. 

“Donnatella!” Josh smiles, looking inordinately pleased with himself. The bastard is _strutting_ down the hallway! “You saw them.” 

“Oh yes,” I answer, reaching him. I stand in his personal space, my nose practically touching his. “What _were_ you thinking Joshua Lyman?” 

He shrugs, now wearing a self-satisfied smirk. It’s smirk No. #5: I already know I’m brilliant; you don’t have to tell me. “I knew you’d like them.” 

I drop my voice to its lowest octave. “Like them?” 

Josh’s expression falters, as he realizes that he may have done something wrong. “That’s okay Donna, you can thank me later,” he says, his voice slowing. 

I am going to kill him. Right in front of Andy, the Secret Service Agent standing at the outer office door, five metres away from us. “Is it supposed to be some kind of joke? I’m not laughing, Josh. Are you trying to humiliate me?” 

Now his expression is confused and hurt. “Donna, what are you talking about? I...I thought you’d be thrilled.” 

“Th - thrilled?!” I think I’m shrieking. “Of all the things...today of all days...I...I...” I can’t form words. I have been rendered speechless by condoms. 

I grab Josh’s elbow and manhandle him towards his office. We turn the corner into our bullpen, where everybody is still staring. 

Josh stops up short. “Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no,” he says faintly. 

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,” I correct. “Now, please explain.” 

He looks at me, then back at my desk. “Those are not supposed to be there.” 

“I should damn well hope not.” 

“There are supposed to be flowers,” he tells me, looking crestfallen. “Not 450 million...” he gestures towards them. “But flowers. Roses, and lilies and carnations 

and other flowers I don’t know the names of. There must have been a mix-up.” “A mix-up? You didn’t get me...” I gesture to them, “For our anniversary?” 

“Of course not,” Josh replies in a horrified and slightly insulted tone. “Why would I get you...” he gestures, “Those?” 

The man ordered me flowers. Roses and lilies, and other flowers he doesn’t know the names of, because he can barely tell the difference between a conifer and a fern. And there was a mix-up. It’s so terribly Josh-like, and I feel a hug coming on. 

Which is why Leo chooses now to walk around the corner into our bullpen. 

“Where the hell is every...” he stops, seeing where everyone is. “What are you all doing? In case you hadn’t noticed, we have...condoms,” Leo finishes, staring at my desk in abject horror. 

Margaret shakes her head. “No, Donna has condoms.” 

“They’re from Josh,” Kathy adds. 

I never did like Margaret or Kathy. 

******** 

Leo rounds on me, and I just know he’s going to yell. 

“Why are there thousands of...” Leo gestures wildly, “All over Donna’s desk?” 

I’m distracted by Donna’s perfume, and Sam, Toby and CJ are congregated at my office door watching with unbridled glee. “Uh...” I begin. 

“There was a mix-up,” Donna saves me. “Josh ordered flowers for me, but there was some kind of mix-up, and I got those...” she gestures, “Instead.” 

Leo raises an eyebrow. “Somebody confused...those, with flowers?” Then it occurs to him. “You ordered Donna flowers? Why would you do that?” 

“It’s their Assistant Anniversary today,” Carol informs Leo. 

Leo hesitates for a moment, before he seems to accept things. What else can he say? The Operations bullpen, in front of everyone, isn’t the place to ask whether I gave Donna 450 million condoms because I want to do...that...with my assistant. 

Which I don’t. Want to have sex with Donna that is. I can see a condom that glows in the dark. It...oh, wow. 

Leo is talking, and I tear my mind away from the gutter it just dropped into. “Those...things can’t sit there all day, Josh,” he says. 

“Obviously,” I concur. “I’ll call the gift store.” 

Leo nods. “Good. Get back to work. Margaret, do you think you could answer my phones? That is the job you’re paid to do.” Leo looks at me. “Josh, can I see you in about an hour?” 

“Sure.” 

Everyone returns to work, although CJ gives me a rather pointed look before she does. Finally, Donna and I are left alone. With the condoms. 

Donna surveys her desk. “I can’t work at it like this, can I?” 

“You could try working around them,” I suggest, stepping forward to stand beside her. I look at the pile of Trojans sitting on top of the South East Asia Economic Report for the last quarter. “Tangerine?” I ask with amusement. 

Donna reaches across me and picks up a pink one. “Cotton candy.” 

I grab it from her. “No way.” She’s right. “Coffee,” I trump, collecting the brown-wrapped condom from Donna’s keyboard. 

Donna grins, holding up a red package. “Midori.” She arches her eyebrows, and manages to look both disdainful and wildly erotic at the same time. 

Did I just say that my assistant was wildly erotic? “You couldn’t use that one, Josh,” Donna continues. “Being such a lightweight and all.” 

I start speaking before I stop myself. “It wouldn’t matter, anyway. You’d be...” I stop, realizing what I was about to say. “We need to get rid of them.” 

She has an odd expression on her face, but she nods. “You call the gift store. I’ll get a box for them or something.” 

I pluck the Midori condom from her fingers. “I’ll keep that one.” 

******** 

“I know,” Josh says impatiently into the phone, his decibel level rising. “Yes, I understand there was a mix-up in orders. I told you that three minutes ago.” 

I’m putting the condoms in a box, although I keep stopping and marvelling at the flavours: popcorn, treacle, and chocolate. And I didn’t imagine it...there was a glow-in-the-dark one. I pocket it. 

“What do you mean you gave my flowers to someone else? Get them back!” Josh is running his hands through his hair. “At least come and collect the damn things! I’m the White House Deputy Chief of Staff - I can’t have prophylactics just lying around the office. Congressmen, lobbyists, and the press visit me here. What if the President walks past?” Josh’s eyes almost fall out of his head. “I’d be fired. 

“And who orders that many condoms?” I think the guy on the other end attempts to answer that question. Josh cuts him off. “What are you going to do about this?” Josh sighs. “Fine, I’ll accept a refund. What am I supposed to do with...them?” 

And suddenly, Josh is smiling. “Thank you very much,” he says, putting the phone down. He is chuckling softly. But in mere seconds, he is bent almost double, clutching onto the desk and practically dying from laughter. 

“Josh?” I ask in alarm. 

He struggles for air. “The guy from the gift store just gave me the perfect idea of how to get rid of...” he gestures weakly, still laughing, “Those.” 

**** 

Josh and I put the gift store man’s idea into action, and finally start working. Every time I go to look for something though, I invariably come across another condom I missed when I packed them up. 

You’d think that it being our Assistant Anniversary, Josh would lighten the workload. But he’s got me doing research on six different topics, hunting for dirt on a Republican he wants to sic, and I’ve got a stack of memos to type. 

I’m over at the filing cabinet trying to find a file when the phone rings. “Joshua Lyman’s office.” 

“Could I please speak to Mr. Lyman?” 

I close the filing drawer with my hip. “May I ask who’s calling?” 

“Ava Martin from St. Jude’s.” 

“If you could - ” Then I realize what St. Jude’s is. It’s an expensive and exclusive restaurant I have repeatedly told Josh I want to go to “May I ask what this is regarding, Ms. Martin?” 

“Mr. Lyman has a booking with us this evening.” 

Josh is taking me to St. Jude’s for dinner. The condoms are forgotten. I am still the Girl with the Best Boss in the Building. 

“I’ll just see if he’s available,” I tell the woman. “Josh,” I call, through his open doorway. “There’s a call on line one.” 

I deliberately don’t tell him who it is. He wanted it to be a surprise, and I’m more than happy to comply. 

******** 

I pick the phone up. “Josh Lyman,” I say. 

“Mr. Lyman, it’s Ava Martin from St. Jude’s.” 

I lower my voice. “You weren’t supposed to contact me at the office.” 

I left strict instructions about that. Donna knows everything about me. Keeping all of my plans for today from her has been an exercise in subterfuge. It’s just fortuitous that I’m brilliant at that. 

“I’m sorry,” Ava says apologetically, “But it’s an emergency.” 

No, no, no, no. “What do you mean by an emergency?” 

Ava sighs. “We had a visit from the health inspector this morning.” 

My stomach sinks. “Don’t tell me you’ve been closed down,” I beg. 

“I’m sorry Mr. Lyman.” 

“You’re one of the most exclusive restaurants in town.” 

“It was a snap inspection,” Ava says. “We were behind on a few things.” 

I have a brainwave. “I can make some calls - get this all cleared up.” 

Ava sighs again. “That’s the thing. It was Mr. McGarry who asked the Board to give us a snap inspection.” 

It takes me a second to process. “Leo closed you guys down?” 

“Yes. I’m so sorry Mr. Lyman.” 

“That’s okay,” I say, not meaning it. The woman’s about to burst into tears. If I say something snappy, I’ll have to deal with a weepy, apologetic woman, and I have no experience with them. 

“Anyway,” she says, taking hold of herself. “We apologise for the inconvenience. We’ve been put on probation, and we’ll be open again soon. You can have dinner on the house.” 

“Sure. Thanks.” Yeah, I’m going to eat at a restaurant closed down by a Health Inspector. Have I got stupid stamped on my forehead? 

I look through my office door and see Donna doing that thing when she pretends she’s not listening to me. She’s typing, but she has her head half-cocked, waiting for the sound of me hanging up. I do so, and she twists to look at me. 

She’s beaming. Her bright, all-is-right-with-the-world-and-you-are-a-good-man-Joshua-Lyman beam. The beam I rarely get from Donna. 

It’s the smile that makes my heart go bouncing around like I’m thirteen again, and I’ve got sweaty palms because I’m sitting next to Laura Mackenzie in English and her hair keeps brushing my shoulder. Except that Laura’s got nothing on Donna. 

She’s beaming at me, and I don’t want her to be. I am a dead man. Donna stands up and steps into my office. “You’ve got a meeting with Leo,” she reminds me, still beaming. 

Condoms and a snap health inspection. 

“Meeting. Leo,” she says, waving a hand in front of my face. 

“Yeah.” 

“Is something wrong?” Donna asks, her brilliant beam fading slightly. 

“No,” I lie, standing and hunting around for my jacket. 

Donna picks it up from one of the visitor’s chairs and helps me into it. She smoothes the collar down and straightens my tie. “There. Perfect.” 

“I know,” I grin. 

She hits me on the shoulder. “Remind me to book a separate room for your ego when we next go away.” 

“Who could maintain any kind of ego with you as their assistant?” 

“You, apparently,” Donna fires back. 

“You know Kathy never picks on Sam like this.” 

“But she steals his donuts.” 

“And brings him coffee.” 

“If Sam was an egotistical, stubborn tyrant, I’m sure Kathy wouldn’t bring him coffee.” 

I frown. “You don’t bring me coffee because you think I’m a tyrant?” Donna nods, standing close enough for me to count the spray of tiny freckles across her nose. “I bet Mussolini’s assistant brought him coffee.” My voice is low and soft - I don’t know why I’m counting, but I’m up to ten freckles. 

“Mussolini probably killed her,” Donna counters, her voice similarly low. Her fingers curl around my collar slightly. 

Twenty. “She brought him decaf one too many times.” 

“Probably.” She sounds almost drowsy. “Josh?” 

“Mm?” Twenty-eight. 

“Leo. Meeting.” 

The name ‘Leo’ makes me realize that I’m standing mere millimetres from my assistant, counting the freckles on her nose. 

I step back. “Leo. Meeting,” I say, exiting my office. I shoot her a backward glance and see her leaning against the doorframe, looking flustered. 

Donna has thirty-four freckles on her nose. 

******** 

What the hell was that? 

One minute I’m straightening Josh’s tie - a fairly regular occurrence, considering how badly he pulls at it - and the next, I’m close enough to kiss him. Plus, he was staring at my nose, obviously transfixed. 

And now I’m flustered. 

I’ve spent the last three years making sure that Josh and I never come close enough for anything to happen. Sure, we’ve had our moments - moments with delicious, magical electricity. 

And we also have the banter. Let me tell you that banter is the most underrated but most spectacular form of foreplay. 

But as much as I’ve created that barrier, I’m constantly breaking it. It’s too easy to do that with Josh: he’s funny and needy and charming and intelligent and magnetic. People are always drawn to Josh, me included. 

Josh is also very tactile. He puts his hand on my elbow; he guides me in and out of rooms with a hand at the small of my back; he walks with his arm around my waist when he’s orchestrated a victory. 

But I’ve noticed that when he touches CJ, or Carol - or even Sam - it’s not the same. His hand doesn’t linger on CJ’s elbow; he doesn’t keep his arm around Carol’s waist. And he sure as hell doesn’t stand millimetres away from Sam, staring at his nose. Although, there was that one time, but they were drunk and Josh doesn’t remember it, and Sam made me swear never to say anything. 

I’ve admitted to myself that Josh also breaks those boundaries by touching me that way, although for three years, I’ve refused to wonder why he does it. 

So, we spend weeks circling around each other with our banter and Josh’s escalating touch, trying very hard to keep things as professional. 

Then boom and all those other stupid noises they used in old Batman episodes. We have a moment, I get flustered and retreat, and remind myself why doing _anything_ with Josh is a terrible idea. Right at the top of the list that includes sleeping with a call girl, trusting Ann Stark, and taking on Karen Cahill. 

But that, just then didn’t feel like one of our mostly-harmless moments. 

It felt like total, wanton abandon, which is another one of those terrible ideas. Only I can’t think of it like that. I keep thinking of the mercuric light in Josh’s eyes when he was looking at me just then. 

And I suddenly realize I’m completely screwed. 

******** 

Margaret smiles when I arrive at her desk. “Josh, how are you?” 

“Good, thanks Margaret. And you?” 

“I’m okay, but my sister Jane rang me last night, and it turns out that this strawberry jam I buy - you can only get in Annapolis, but I make the trip anyway, and sometimes Jane makes it for me - it turns out that...” she trails off. “Josh?” 

I smile at her. I like Margaret. I really do. “Is Leo busy?” 

“He’s on a call. He should be done in a minute.” Margaret returns to typing for a second, before asking, “What did you do with those...things?” 

“Mm?” I realize she’s talking about the condoms. “We got rid of them. But Donna keeps finding spares if you want to...” I trail off. Margaret must have sex, right? She’s giving me a look. “Think Leo’s finished?” 

Margaret knocks on Leo’s door before opening it. Margaret stops me with a hand on my arm before I enter. “Tell Donna I’ll come by after lunch. If she’s got spares,” Margaret shrugs, closing the door behind her. 

“I have to go.” Leo hangs up. “Josh, take a seat.” 

“Did you close down my restaurant?” I ask, sitting down. 

“What?” Leo asks with confusion. 

“St. Jude’s. Did you close it down?” 

His face clears. “Yeah, I took Mallory there for lunch last week. The place was atrocious so I made some calls. They’ve been closed down, huh?” 

“Snap inspection this morning,” I inform him. “So, thanks to your community-minded gesture, I’ve got nowhere to take Donna for dinner.” 

“Why are you taking Donna out for dinner?” 

“Assistant Anniversary. I was going to take Donna to St. Jude’s.” 

“You can drop your name anywhere and get a table.” 

“Donna’s been telling me for months how she wants to go to St. Jude’s.” 

Leo sighs. “I’m sorry.” 

“I mean, it’s bad enough that she got condoms instead of flowers, but...” 

“What did you do with those?” Leo interrupts. 

Oops. “We got rid of them.” Well, we did. 

Nodding, he says, “Good. Anyway...” Leo goes on. 

“What am I supposed to do about dinner?” I ask. 

“Do I look like an advice columnist?” he asks impatiently. “I wanted to discuss Donna’s raise.” 

I sigh in relief. “At least something gone right today.” Silence. My karma is a bitch. “What is it?” 

“Kent Conrad called me. Budget is still considering it.” 

“Donna’s raise has been stalled in committee?” 

“It’s not political,” Leo hurriedly assures me. “They were running behind at the last sitting so they didn’t get to it, and they don’t meet again until Friday.” 

“Donna’s raise is being held-up by bureaucracy?” 

Condoms, snap-inspections and bureaucracy, oh my! I close my eyes. “This is not happening to me.” 

“Josh, I know you wanted to give this to her today...” 

“I’ve got Mozart and jewellery left at this point.” 

“You can give Donna her raise on Friday and she’ll be just as thrilled.” 

“You don’t understand. I’m the Best Boss in the Building. After you,” I add. Leo gives me a disbelieving look. “If I don’t deliver today, Donna won’t be the Girl with the Best...Second Best Boss in the Building. It’s very important to her.” 

Leo is frowning. “You’re giving Donna jewellery?” 

I’m a brilliant man who runs rings around Senators, but put me in a room with my boss and I can’t covert. “I...it...you know what? Talk to my mother.” 

His frown disappears. “If Marah knows about it, I’m sure it’s fine.” 

“You’re just scared of my mother,” I tease. I can get away with teasing Leo about my mother because he really is terrified of her. 

“Go away. I have work to do.” I’m at the door when Leo says, “Josh? Donna shouldn’t need those things to know that you appreciate her.” 

******** 

Josh returns from Leo’s office muttering something about bureaucracy. That isn’t unusual - bureaucracy is one of Josh’s pet hates. 

“Are you okay?” I ask him. 

He stops in mid-step. “I’m fine. Did I miss any calls?” “Senator Estevez’s plane is grounded in Hawaii - where you’ve never taken me - because of a tropical storm. I rescheduled her for two o’clock tomorrow.” 

“If you could find some legitimate, work-related reason for us to go to Hawaii, where we could experience the joys of a tropical storm, I would take you. But it’s only worth three points and there’s sand everywhere.” 

I roll my eyes. “Normal people don’t mind sand. In fact, some people quite like having it between their toes.” 

“No, they don’t. That’s just a stupid expression everyone uses. Nobody likes having sand stuck to their feet, or any other part of their anatomy.” 

“How would you know about sand in other parts of your anatomy?” 

“I have work to do,” Josh hurriedly says. 

“You don’t get out of it that easily,” I say, following him into his office. 

He sits at his desk and flaps his hand. “Go away and work now.” 

“Joshua, it’s my - our - Assistant Anniversary, and all you’ve given me so far is condoms. I deserve to know another piece of blackmail about you, don’t I?” 

“Well when you put like it that, I suddenly feel compelled to tell you.” 

“Please?” I sit on his desk and pout at him. 

Josh is suddenly very silent. “Donna, why are you sitting on my desk?” 

“Because,” I answer facetiously, “I want to be Julia Roberts in _Pretty Woman_ and have you collect a fax from under my...” I trail off. “What am I sitting on?” 

“The draft of the new Trade Practices Act amendments, which I have to review,” Josh replies evenly. 

“Tell me about the sand and I’ll get off.” 

At least Josh’s not looking at my nose again. It takes me a few seconds to realize that he’s too busy looking at my legs. 

Josh’s discomfort is suddenly replaced with smirk No. #8: I know something you don’t know. “I’m not telling you about the sand.” 

“I’m not getting off the Trade Practices amendments.” I cross my right leg over my left and swing them slightly. Josh’s eyes are torn: continue our staring match or look at my legs? 

I have nice legs. 

“It looks like we’re at an impasse,” I continue, with a slight smile. 

“Not really.” Josh grabs the corner of the amendments and yanks at it. Because my legs are crossed, my centre of balance is off. So, Josh ends up with the draft in his hands. And me in his lap. 

“I always did want to be Richard Gere,” Josh grins. 

He’s making a joke? I’m sprawled in his lap like a sacrificial offering, and Josh is making a smart remark...that funny look in his eyes is back. 

“Josh,” I say softly. Maybe I’ve pushed it too far this time. 

“Donna,” he almost whispers. 

We are having a moment. 

“Josh have you seen the - what in the name in the God?” 

It’s CJ. 


	2. Better Than Perfect 2

**Better Than Perfect**

**by:** Ygrawn

**Character(s):** Josh and Donna, with some ensemble  
**Pairing(s):** J/D  
**Category(s):** Romance, Humor  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Disclaimer:** I don’t own Josh and Donna et al. There are references to real people herewith, and I don’t own them either.   
**Summary:** It's Josh and Donna's Assistant Anniversary. Josh has plans. As usual, they don't work.  
**Author's Note:** I’m Australian, and this was begun before Bartlet’s 3rd SotU. This swaps between Josh and Donna’s POV, and starts with Josh’s. And for reasons that will soon become obvious, 17 People and the disputed anniversary didn't happen. 

* * *

That stupid adjoining door. That stupid, fucking adjoining door. Mental note: have the stupid, fucking, adjoining door nailed shut and cemented up. ASAP. 

CJ none too gently closes the stupid, fucking adjoining door. “Joshua Huen Lyman, would you care to explain why Donna is sitting in your lap?” 

Damn - she brought the full name. “I...uh...she...” 

Donna interjects. “I overbalanced and fell into Josh’s lap, CJ. You walked in two seconds after it happened. It’s nothing.” 

“Nothing,” I repeat. 

“It’s _nothing_? I’m sorry if I think finding the Deputy Chief of Staff with his assistant ensconced in his lap is something! What if I’d been a reporter?” 

“The only person that could get in here through your office is Danny, and he wouldn’t write anything about it,” I point out sensibly. 

“Josh!” CJ yells, as if my name is erudite counter-argument. 

“I’m just saying.” Playing it cool is the way to go. Or maybe not. CJ looks ready to punch me. 

Donna intercedes again. “There’s nothing for you to worry about. I was simply reminding Josh he has a meeting with Senator McDowell...” 

“I do?” I ask. 

Donna simultaneously kicks my ankle and elbows me in the ribs, with remarkable co-ordination. “Yes. I just reminded you.” 

I catch my breath and realize my mistake. “You just did.” 

“You’re just trying to kill me aren’t?” CJ says. “No, you _do_ kill me. I lie awake at night with nightmare visions of the day my pressroom finds out, and I think did they do it on the desk, whilst I was in the next room, and...” 

“You’re rambling,” I interject. “There’s nothing like that between us.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“I think we’d know,” Donna answers, blushing slightly. “This...” she gestures at the space between us, “Is nothing at all.” Although, I’d like to point out that the space between us right now is _very_ small. 

“Good,” CJ finally says, her expression softening. “Because I’d be the first to tell you that relationships like this don’t work.” 

“I know,” I say, sick of hearing about how much of a terrible idea Donna and I are. “I _know_ , CJ. I live and breathe politics. I really do know.” 

“It’s not just about the ramifications for this administration. Relationships like that are difficult to maintain.” 

I realize what she’s talking about. “Those were completely different circumstances, CJ. For a start, you weren’t his assistant.” 

“No, but we worked together, and we couldn’t stay together.” 

I chose my words carefully. “It wasn’t just the job, CJ. It was other things.” 

Her smile is brittle. “Yes. You sure this is nothing?” she asks again. 

“Yes,” Donna and I answer in automatic unison. 

I, of course, being an idiot, continue. “It was a Julia Roberts moment, but the Bill was too thick, so Donna lost her balance, and...” 

“I have work to do,” Donna interrupts, using my knee to lever herself upright, before she heads back to her desk. Who knew the knee was an erogenous zone? 

“Josh,” CJ says, interrupting my train of thought. It was such a nice train, too. 

“It’s nothing. There is nothing going on.” 

She shakes her head. “There’s always something going on between you two.” 

“We’re just friends.” 

“So were we,” CJ says softly. 

“It’s probably not a good idea to talk about that when Donna’s around.” 

“And what makes you think Donna doesn’t know about Toby and I?” she asks. 

“She knows?” 

“Donna doesn’t spend her very limited spare time at home thinking about you, Josh. She goes out with people: me, the other assistants, Sam.” 

“Sam?” Jealously is thick in my voice, although I’m not sure why. 

“Oh, for God’s sake,” CJ says with irritation. “They’re just friends, Josh.” 

“And that’s all Donna and I are,” I hurriedly reassert. 

“Good.” Her eyes deepen to navy blue. “Does Toby...does he ever...” she trails off. “No, I don’t want to know.” CJ turns and opens our connecting door. 

“Claudia Jean?” 

“Yes, Joshua?” 

“He does.” 

It doesn’t occur to me until five minutes later, that during the entire time CJ was yelling at us, Donna didn’t climb out of my lap. 

******** 

Thirty minutes after the lap debacle, and I’m typing up memo, and correcting Josh’s grammar when somebody tugs on my hair and holds a red scarf up in front of my eyes. _My_ red scarf, which I thought I’d lost. 

Sam perches on the edge of my desk, before draping the scarf around my neck and smiles in that innocent way that always makes me smile at him in return. “You left it the other night,” he tells me. 

Pick your mind out of the gutter. There’s nothing like that between us. 

“You left it in the restaurant.” 

“Thank you,” I say, pulling it off. “I was wondering where I’d left it.” 

“No problem. I’ve got tickets to the Rockwell exhibition.” 

My eyes go wide. “You do?” 

He nods excitedly. “This Friday night. You doing anything?” 

I give Sam a pointed look. “Sam, am I ever doing anything on a Friday night other than commiserating with you that I nothing to do on a Friday night?” 

He shrugs. “I thought you and Josh...” he trails off. 

“Josh and I what?” I ask suspiciously. 

“CJ was just in my office, saying something about finding you in his lap. That and something about Julia Roberts. I thought maybe...” 

I shake my head. “It was nothing. And I’m free on Friday night. We can have dinner afterwards.” 

“That’d be nice.” 

Six months ago, Josh went to some function and I worked late. Sam wandered into the bullpen, looking dejected. I asked him what was wrong, and we ended up talking until two. The following week, he asked me to dinner, and we discovered we have a lot in common. 

“I should get back to work, or Kathy will hunt me down,” Sam says. 

“She could do your work for you,” I tease, tugging on his green silk tie. 

“Mm,” Sam agrees. “Toby probably wouldn’t gripe about her writing at all.” 

“Toby couldn’t live without you; he also couldn’t live with himself if he told you that.” 

“We need a Sam Anniversary day. People could bring me condoms.” He looks around. “What did you end up doing with them?” 

“We got rid of them,” I tell him. And we did. “Now go away.” 

“Did I imagine it, or was there a glow-in-the-dark one?” 

“Go. Now.” I push at Sam’s hip, but he’s surprisingly strong. 

“Because, if there is...” 

“Samuel Norman Seaborn,” I interrupt him, “If you finish that sentence, I...” But I don’t get to finish my sentence. 

“Hello Donna,” says somebody with a loud, familiar voice. 

I look up at Sam, and find him similarly surprised. Then I twist my head ninety degrees and look at the person standing in front of my desk. 

Well, isn’t that just great? 

**** 

Kenny and Joey Lucas are standing in front of my desk like it’s perfectly natural for them to be standing there. Joey Lucas is smiling, as if she hasn’t come to ruin my - our - Assistant Anniversary. 

“How are you?” Kenny asks. 

“Good,” Sam answers. He tries to stand straight, but I’m still clutching his tie and he’s yanked back down. 

“Sorry, Sam.” I let go of his tie. 

“What are you doing here?” Sam asks Joey. 

“I’m here with Congresswoman Wyatt,” Joey answers, via Kenny. “I’m working with her on mandatory minimum’s.” 

“Andie’s here?” I ask. This is not happening. “In the White House?” 

Joey looks puzzled. “Yes. We have a meeting with Toby.” 

And of course, because I’m trapped in my own nightmare, the aforementioned Andie appears. She tries to place my face. “Donna?” she asks uncertainly. 

I nod. “That’s right.” 

Andie looks at Joey. “Toby’s in a meeting. Ginger says he should be finished soon.” Joey nods, and Andie turns back to Sam and I. “Hi Sam,” she says. 

“Hello Andie,” Sam replies. “How are you?” 

“I’m good. How do you like working with Toby?” 

Sam considers his answer. “It’s a challenge and a privilege.” 

“Thank you Sam. It’s a challenge to work with you too,” says Toby, entering the drama that’s playing out in front of my desk. 

Only two more people could make this situation worse. 

Josh’s office door is thrown open. That’s one. “Donnatella!” Josh begins, “Have you seen...Andie!” The redhead stops him in his tracks. 

“Josh,” says Joey. 

“Joey!” Josh looks askance at me, as though my fault that since he was last out here, Joey, Kenny and Andie have appeared. 

“How are you?” Joey and Andie ask Josh in unison. 

“Good,” he replies. “Donnatella,” he repeats, looking for an explanation. 

I’m thinking of ways to get everyone away from my desk, and trying to recall where CJ is right now. “Joey...Andie...Toby...minimum’s,” I manage. 

Josh frowns at my addled effort and looks to Sam. 

“Andie’s here to discuss mandatory minimum’s. Hudson/Hawk released that report last week, and the Ethics Committee wants to revisit it,” Sam adds. “I presume Joey’s here to talk about possible polling on the issue.” 

“Yes,” Toby confirms, gesturing back towards the Communications bullpen. “So why don’t we head back to my office, Andie? Joey...Kenny?” 

And the problem seems to be miraculously solved. Sam’s shoulders relax, Josh exhales and I nod with enthusiasm. The sooner... 

“Josh,” someone says from within Josh’s office. “Josh, where are you?” 

CJ appears in Josh’s doorway, and starts at the crowd of people. “Joey,” she says, seeing the blonde woman first. “I didn’t know you were in Washington.” 

“Hey CJ,” she says, via Kenny. “I’m here until this evening.” 

“That’s...” CJ trails off as she sees Andie, “...good.” 

“Hey, CJ,” Andie says. 

“Hello Andie,” CJ replies. 

“It’s good to see you,” the redhead continues. 

“Yes,” CJ says, imperceptibly lifting her shoulders. “How have you been?” 

“Good,” Andie answers. “Busy. Are you keeping Toby in line for me?” 

“Nobody can keep Toby in line,” CJ counters. “Least of all me.” 

“That’s not true,” Andie counters. “He always listened to you.” 

CJ risks a glance at Toby. “Toby doesn’t listen to anyone.” 

“That’s because I’m always right,” Toby says softly. 

Andie continues blithely. “If I had a dollar for every time Toby would talk about something CJ had told him to do, I’d be a rich woman.” 

Kenny’s translated the conversation for Joey, and being a perceptive woman, she’s figured out the nuances, but she can’t do anything. Sam is looking off in the distance, and I don’t have the power to break this situation. 

“What did you need me for, CJ?” Josh asks, having that power. 

“I need you to take me through some figures before the briefing.” 

“I’ve got that meeting with Luke McDowell, so we should do it now.” He smiles at Joey and Andie. “Excuse us. It was good seeing you both.” 

“I’ll drop by later,” Joey tells him. 

Sam starts herding Andie, Kenny and Joey towards Toby’s office, but Toby is still looking at CJ. Josh puts a hand on the small of CJ’s back and guides her into his office. When he isn’t being an insensitive jerk, Josh can be a wonderful friend. 

Toby looks at Josh’s door for moment, before he turns and follows Sam, his ex-wife and his visitors. I probably imagine it, but he moves very slowly. 

******** 

It was a one-time thing one night that turned into a three-month thing, when CJ and Toby were working on Governor Florey’s campaign. I’m not certain what the status of Andie and Toby’s relationship was then, but I know it wasn’t good. Their marriage was in trouble for years before they finally split up. 

I knew Toby professionally - political operatives move in small circles, and we’d bump into each other at functions, conventions, and on the campaign trail. We knew enough about each other to have a few drinks. 

Looking back on that period, I recall a kind of happiness in Toby. Toby’s happiness isn’t a buoyant quality that can barely be contained, like Donna’s happiness. His happiness is almost insidious. He wears an air of relief when he’s happy - it’s a temporary reprieve from the demons that live inside Toby. 

Those demons give Toby his intensity, and his heart. And those are the qualities he gives to President Bartlet with his speeches. The President is a brilliant man, but Toby makes him more than brilliant. Toby makes him sublime. Toby does - and will - make Josiah Bartlet a legend. 

I knew, back then, that Toby had found something to fill the space inside. And I knew, a few months later, after Florey lost, that Toby had also lost. 

When we were looking for a Press Secretary during the campaign, Toby argued for CJ, and received Leo’s permission to go and get her. Never let it be said that Toby’s personal feelings get in the way of his professionalism, because he was right about CJ being the best person for the job. 

I know they talked about working together when CJ took the position and they’re completely professional. I also know that sometimes, Toby looks at CJ like she’s his sanity but he can’t tell her, and CJ gives him a crooked smile because she already knows. 

When I close my door behind me, I take CJ’s chin between my fingers and look directly at her. 

Claudia Jean Cregg is the single strongest woman I will ever meet. 

But she’s also fragile and vulnerable like the rest of us, and I can see her fighting to hold it together. 

So, I do something I rarely do, because she rarely lets me. I slide my arms around her waist and pull her close to me. CJ holds out for a minute, before her body relaxes and her arms slip around my neck. 

We stand there for a very long time. 

**** 

Even when you’re the Deputy White House Chief of Staff, if you’re meeting with Senate leadership, you do it on their territory. 

I don’t mind running around after Minority Leader Luke McDowell. 

When I worked for the Whip, Luke was the Deputy Majority Leader, and we were constantly liasing. We used to joke about the future, when I’d be running the White House, and he’d be running the Senate, and all would be right with the world. 

I spend a nice hour with Luke, going over the upcoming legislative program. I have to skirt around the administration’s real agenda quite a number of times, but Luke does the same thing, because the White House and the Senate aren’t exactly friends, even if Luke and I are. 

We dispense with that in about forty minutes, and roll our eyes over the Republicans, then exchange party gossip. Luke tells me about his kids; I ask after his wife, before he asks, “And how’s that assistant of yours?” He frowns. “Donna?” 

“When did you meet Donna?” 

“Seeing as you always come to me, right?” Luke asks with a grin. 

“Yeah,” I grin in return. 

“We met a few months ago at a Congressional function. We got to talking.” 

I freeze and look very carefully at Luke. “What did you tell her?” 

He looks at me innocently. “Whatever do you mean, Josh?” 

“Luke,” I warn. “Did you tell her about that weekend in Nova Scotia?” 

“No, but I will next time.” He holds out another minute. “I didn’t tell her anything. We just laughed our asses off about the secret plan to fight inflation.” 

I groan. “People are still talking about that?” 

He nods. “Funniest thing to happen since the President rode his bike into a tree. Or CJ said she was good in bed.” 

“You know that CJ can kill a man in fourteen different ways, right?” 

“Up here, we’re wary of you and Leo, we love Sam, we know not to cross Toby, and we’re just plain scared of CJ.” 

“Who said Senators are stupid?” I tease. “I’ll tell Donna you say hello.” 

Luke hesitates a moment. “I’m going to say this as your friend. Donna’s a wonderful woman, Josh, and wonderful women don’t come along very often.” 

“Luke - ” 

“Hear me out. I wouldn’t say anything, except that when she and I were talking, I mentioned the...I mentioned Rosslyn.” 

“Oh.” 

“Anyway,” Luke hurries on, “She went deadly pale, and couldn’t talk about it without shaking, Josh. Her hands were shaking and she had to sit down.” 

“Luke...” I trail off. 

He sighs. “Yeah. Donna’s still a wonderful woman.” 

We agree to have lunch next week, and I walk back down the hill, enjoying the sunshine. 

******** 

After Josh goes up to the Hill to see Luke McDowell, I make sure there’s no way Andie and CJ can bump into each other again. I tell Sam to tie Andie down if he has to, and head back to my desk. Now everything’s taken care of, I have nothing to do but think about Joey. That or work. 

Joey Lucas it is. 

Josh obviously liked Joey from the moment she stunned him out of his morning-after-the-two-drinks-the-night-before hangover. He’s such a lightweight. But that’s the not issue. 

The issue is that in California, Joey Lucas flirted with Josh while she was sleeping with Al Keifer. And dear God, why? Has she seen the man? I mean, really seen the man? Al doesn’t-have-a-thing-on-Joshua-Lyman Keifer? 

The whole California debacle hurt Josh a lot more than he let on. The man has an emotionally crippling mea-culpa-complex he’s carried since he was six. Tell me you wouldn’t have self-esteem issues. 

Anyway, Josh recovered, but it was a damn trying period for both of us. 

Then Joey came to town; Josh wore his Tuesday suit, gave her a mug, and found out (along with most of D.C.) that she was no longer sleeping with Al Keifer. 

And nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. Nada. 

I honestly think there’s something wrong with Joey, because she did something with Al Keifer and nothing with Josh. What’s wrong with him? Can’t she see how sweet and funny and intelligent he is? Maybe he’s a jerk sometimes, but nobody’s perfect. 

Dear God, I’m pathetic. I hate it when he’s a jerk, and Josh’s list of imperfections makes the Wall of China look short. 

Back to Joey Lucas. My point is this: although nothing has ever happened between them, and I doubt anything ever will now, whenever Joey’s in town, Josh becomes oblivious to me, and barely looks in my direction. 

If I were four, I would stamp my foot and complain that it’s not fair. 

However, I’m twenty-six, and I bite my tongue. 

But today is our Assistant Anniversary. He’s taking me to dinner at St. Jude’s. He’s...I stop typing as a horrifying realization comes over me. What if Josh isn’t taking me to St. Jude’s? What if he’s taking Joey? What if condoms are all I get, while Joey gets dinner and dancing, because there’s dancing at St. Jude’s. What if... 

My cell phone is ringing. It’s in my handbag, and I have to pull out mascara, lipstick, a comb, two loose tampons, my purse, car keys, Josh’s passport (I keep it with me because he always mislays it), and a thousand receipts before I locate it. 

“Donna Moss.” 

“Donnatella!” Josh exclaims. 

“Josh,” I reply. The bastard is taking Joey Lucas to St. Jude’s on my - our - Assistant Anniversary. “Where are you?” 

“Walking down Pennsylvania.” He’s probably strutting. “I was just accosted by four of my fans. I think I need to hire a bodyguard.” He’s definitely strutting. 

I roll my eyes. “Because you need something like that to feed your undernourished ego.” 

“I promised Leo I’d call Terry McAuliffe. Apparently, he’s griping about 817, or something like that.” 

I wait, until I realize he’s expecting an answer. “And?” I prompt. 

“And,” he says impatiently, “My powers of mental telepathy are running low today, so I need you to give me McAuliffe’s number so I can call him on it.” 

“Why don’t you wait until you get back to the office?” 

Josh sighs. “Because - it’s a nice day, and four good-looking co-eds just told me I’m incredible, and my meeting with Luke went well. He says hello, by the way.” 

“He says ‘hello by the way’?” I question. 

“No, he says hello, without the by the way bit.” 

“Where’s the number?” I ask impatiently. I need to go and vent somewhere. 

“In my backpack,” Josh tells me. “In one of the front pockets.” 

“That’s specific,” I snap, stepping into his office and locating his backpack. 

“Donna?” Josh asks, in a quiet tone, “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine. And do you have any idea which pocket?” 

“No,” he replies. “I’ll pick up some lunch - what would you like?” 

_Something from St. Jude’s_ is on the tip of my tongue. “A salad,” I decide. “A Caesar salad with...” 

“No anchovies, very little dressing, and extra bacon,” Josh says, before I do. “And you’d prefer it from Pete’s Deli, not the café next to Starbucks, because their salad still tastes like anchovies even after they remove them. Anything else?” 

“No. I’ve found the number.” As I pull it out, a whole bunch of papers fall out with it. I ignore them and reel off Terry McAuliffe’s number. 

“Thanks. I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes.” 

“Fine.” I hang up and collect the bits of paper together. They’re mostly business cards, but two of them aren’t. Two of them are tickets to the opening night of the New York Philharmonic playing Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. 

My asshole of a boss is taking Joey to dinner and then to hear Mozart. 

And he thinks he can fix this with a Caesar salad with no anchovies and extra bacon from Pete’s Deli? 

I need to find Sam so I can stamp my foot and tell him it’s just not fair. 

******** 

When I get back to the office, Donna’s not waiting in the hallway. I stop mid-step, and wonder when our routine became so central to my world. I walk quickly to the bullpen, but she’s not sitting at her desk, and she isn’t in my office. I pivot and head over to the Communications bullpen. 

Bonnie, Ginger and Kathy have their heads together at Kathy’s desk. 

“Hey guys,” I say, and they spring apart. “Do you know where Donna is?” 

Bonnie gives me an appraising look. “She’s in Sam’s office.” 

“Thanks. Is Toby still in with Andie and Joey?” 

“Yes,” Ginger answers. “Why do you ask?” 

“I want to speak to Toby after he’s finished,” I answer guardedly. 

“Toby?” Kathy raises an eyebrow. “You want to speak to Toby?” 

“Yes. Why do I feel like I’m in the middle of a Spanish Inquisition?” 

Ginger shrugs innocently. “We thought you might want to talk to Joey.” 

“Uh...okay.” 

“I don’t think Donna wants to be disturbed,” Bonnie tells me. 

I hold up my bags. “I’ve got lunch. Why wouldn’t she want to be disturbed? What could she be doing in there with Sam?” There’s silence, and my imagination runs away with me. “What is Donna doing in there with Sam?” 

“We don’t know,” Ginger answers breezily. “You sound almost jealous.” 

“W-wh-what?” I splutter. “Why would I be jealous? Donna’s _my_ assistant. Tell Toby I want to see him. And stop looking at me like that.” 

“Okay,” Bonnie smiles. 

“Jealous,” I roll my eyes, hoping I’m not overdoing it. But Donna is _my_ assistant, goddamn it, and she’s supposed to wait in the hallway with an expectant expression, because that’s what we do. 

I open the door to hear Sam say, “...be honest with yourself, Donna.” 

“I am,” Donna says fervently. Her ramrod straight back is to me, her weight is resting on one hip, and the other is thrust out rather alluringly. “It’s not fair, Sam!” 

“What’s not fair?” I ask, stepping into Sam’s office. 

Donna whips around, her hair flying and eyes bright, obviously startled. “Josh! What are you doing here?” 

I hold up my bags. “I went to my office, only to discover that my assistant wasn’t there doing what an assistant does. So, I came over here and was held up by the Witches of Eastwick. But I come bearing lunch.” 

“We heard that,” Bonnie calls from out in the bullpen. 

“What’s not fair?” I repeat, putting the bags on Sam’s desk. Donna is flushed and magnificent and I’m not going there. 

Sam looks at Donna and fumbles for an answer. “Donna thinks 817 is unfair.” 

I frown. “You think the amendments tightening the restrictions for a state of the art defence are unfair?” 

“Uh...yeah,” she says. “I think the restrictions aren’t tight enough.” 

They’re both lying, but I let it pass. “I have lunch.” 

“Did you get me something?” Sam doesn’t wait for an answer and starts rifling through the bags. “Caesar salad...one horribly burnt burger...a white mocha, a straight black...and two chocolate éclairs.” He pouts. “Nothing for me?” 

“You didn’t ask for anything. But if you’re a good boy and you do what Mommy and Daddy tell you, I’ll buy you a special treat tomorrow.” 

Sam throws me the dirtiest look he can muster, which isn’t saying much. “For my best friend, you’re not very, I don’t know, _friendly_ towards me.” 

I collect the bags. “You’ll get over it. Let’s go eat, Donna.” There’s something up here, and I’m determined to find out what. 

**** 

Donna sits down in one of my visitor’s chairs and starts stabbing at her salad with her fork. I’m glad I’m not the cos lettuce. 

“Any messages?” I ask, attempting conversation. 

“No,” Donna answers shortly, eviscerating a piece of egg. 

“Did I tell you Luke says hello?” 

“Yes.” 

“Terry thinks we’re going in too hard on 817.” 

Donna airs her I-don’t-care look, and returns to her ethnic cleansing of olives. 

I put down my burger. “What’s going on?” 

Donna looks at me like I’m stupid, and should already know the answer. Has history taught women anything at all? Men _never_ know. 

“Nothing,” she finally answers. 

“When I left, you were in a good mood. I’m back, and you’re snappy.” 

“It’s nothing,” she repeats. “Just...nothing, Josh.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“Would you just leave it alone?” Donna stridently replies. “It’s nothing.” 

“I still don’t believe you. Is this about the condoms? Because I - ” 

“No,” Donna interrupts. “You haven’t done anything.” 

And that, I believe, is the problem. “What haven’t I done?” 

She hesitantly asks, “Did you know Joey was going to be here today?” 

The hell? “Did I know she’d be here in Washington? No.” 

Donna exhales. “Oh.” Then she smiles. “When I met Tom, he told me about that party you guys had on the twentieth anniversary of Nixon’s resignation.” 

We’ve gone from snipping to teasing. I’m officially lost. We had a problem, Joey Lucas somehow entered the conversation, and now we’re fine. She’s expecting an answer. “What lie did he tell you about me?” 

“Something about you getting drunk and reciting Rupert Brookes poetry.” 

I take umbrage. “I hate Rupert Brookes. It was Auden.” 

“I didn’t know you liked poetry.” Donna takes a sip of her coffee and a smudge of foam ends up on her upper lip. 

“Some poetry.” My fingers are itching to lean across and...her tongue flicks out and collects the foam and my stomach ends up somewhere near the floor. 

“I can’t stand Rupert Brookes either,” Donna continues, unaware of what she’s just done to me. “But I like T.S. Eliot - ‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock’. I like the line about music from another room.” 

I collect myself - and my stomach - and say,  
“I know the voices dying with a dying fall,   
Beneath the music from a further room.” 

Donna is looking at me like I’ve sprouted a third arm. “What? You thought I only studied politics, law and the art of being a jerk?” 

“No, but I...I...” she trails off. 

I’m bemused. “Admit it, Donna, you think I’m a Neanderthal. Just because I mock opera, and ballet and the theatre doesn’t mean I don’t like other things.” 

“Like what?” she demands. 

I shrug. “Literature, poetry, philosophy. I studied all of them.” 

“I don’t think you’re a Neanderthal.” 

I finish my burger. “My father loved poetry.” 

“The only thing my father reads is the Sports section,” Donna says. 

“My father did that too.” 

“That’s what I love about this job - the intellectual debate. We never had that. Conversation at our dinner table revolved around the latest model oven the neighbours had bought and how my sister was a dead cert for May Queen.” 

“Debate at the dinner table isn’t much fun when your father’s a lawyer and your mother should have been one.” 

“But look how well you argue now.” 

“Doth a compliment fall from my fair assistant’s lips?” 

“A momentary lapse in concentration,” Donna replies, looking flushed. “It won’t happen again.” 

“I should think not.” 

And it’s suddenly better. I hate it when Donna’s mad with me. Most of the time it’s justified, because I’ve acted like a jerk, but this is my favourite part of our day. Sitting in my cramped, messy office, eating lunch and bantering. 

We finish our coffee and éclairs, and Donna collects the rubbish and heads for the door. 

“Donna?” I ask, and she turns to look at me. “Are we okay?” 

She nods, smiling softly. “Yes, Josh. We’re okay.” 

******** 

He didn’t know Joey Lucas was coming. And if he didn’t know, he couldn’t have booked dinner and bought the tickets to the symphony for her. Which means they are for me. I’m still the Girl with the Best Boss in the Building. And Josh quoted poetry and called me his ‘fair assistant’. 

So, I’m grinning like a fool when Margaret appears. “Hey Donna.” 

“Hi Margaret. Does Leo want Josh?” 

“No.” She frowns. “Didn’t Josh tell you I’d be coming by?” 

“He must have forgotten.” 

“Oh.” Margaret blushes. “Josh said you keep finding spares...” 

“Spares?” I rack my brains. “Spares of what?” 

Margaret lowers her voice. “The flowers.” 

“Oh.” I open my bottom drawer. “Take your pick.” 

“Donna!” she hisses. “Can’t you put them in something? I can’t carry those around. What if Leo sees them? Or Toby? Or Sam or Josh?” 

I’m in a fabulous mood. “You and Leo could put them to good use.” 

“Donna!” She’s so mortified it’s cute. 

“I’m joking. Anyway, don’t you have the fourth date with that lawyer from Phillips Fox?” 

“Aaron Lawrie. It’s our fifth date on Saturday.” Her eyes are shinning. 

“You really like him, don’t you?” 

“He’s sweet and gentlemanly and intelligent, and I really like him.” 

“Has Leo met him yet?” 

“No,” Margaret replies with relief. “And thankfully, Leo doesn’t know him. Although I think Sam knows of him.” 

“He said only good things about Aaron to me,” I confide. Sam made some discreet inquiries, because what’s the good of being in power unless you can find out whether your friend is dating an asshole? “You think he’ll survive the Leo test?” 

“I think so. As Josh would say, the sheer blur of numbers says I have to win one sometime.” 

I laugh. Leo is notorious for disapproving of Margaret’s boyfriends. “Hopefully, my spare flowers will be good luck on Saturday,” I say. 

“Donna!” She carefully selects three - apple, blueberry and chocolate. I wonder idly whether she’s going to count the calories in them. 

“You should get back before Leo finds you missing and panics.” 

Margaret rolls her eyes and heads back to Leo’s office. “Thanks Donna.” 

“She only took three,” Josh comments. He’s leaning against his doorframe, looking wonderfully dishevelled. “She can’t think very highly of Aaron.” 

“Perhaps you think too highly of yourself,” I say archly. “She’s only going on the fifth date anyway. Margaret’s a seventh or eighth date kind of girl.” 

“And what kind of girl are you?” I shrug. “It’s been months since I’ve been a first date, so...” I trail off. I cannot believe I said that aloud. I move on quickly. “I should get back to work.” 

But Josh doesn’t budge. “Does it bother you that Margaret’s met a great guy she’s going on the fifth date with him?” 

“Margaret deserves to be happy,” I say, without hesitation. 

“That’s not what I asked.” 

“Josh, I’d really rather not discuss my love life in the middle of the bullpen.” He gestures to his office. “No, I’d really rather not discuss it with you.” 

Josh is obviously confused. “Why not?” 

“Because you’ve still got thirty-five amendments to review.” 

“No guy deserves you anyway, Donnatella. You’re - ” 

“Josh,” Kenny interrupts, translating Joey’s signing as they approach. “I just finished up with Toby.” 

Oh, for the love of God. Does this woman have an internal clock that tells her exactly when she should interrupt Josh and I? Am I being punished for having a number of detailed and erotic fantasies about my boss? Well, just the one fantasy, but I have an incredible imagination. That one fantasy is more creative than anything in the Karma Sutra - even the thing on page 61, with the feather. 

“I was wondering if you were free tonight?” Joey asks Josh. 

What?! She wants to go out with him on my - our - Assistant Anniversary? 

“Uh...” Josh fumbles around, “Why don’t you come into my office?” 

Josh shoots me a glance as Joey and Kenny precede him into his office. It’s a glance that says we’re not finished here. 

Too damn right we’re not. Why does nobody deserve me? And what is he going to tell Joey to let her down? That better be what he’s doing. Because I am getting my dinner, my dancing, my Eine Kleine Nachtmusik and my platonic flirting with Josh, even if I have to kill Joey and Kenny and blame the President. 

I’m mentally assessing the choice of weapons in Josh’s office when a shadow falls across my desk. I look up and wish I hadn’t. 


	3. Better Than Perfect 3

**Better Than Perfect**

**by:** Ygrawn

**Character(s):** Josh and Donna, with some ensemble  
**Pairing(s):** J/D  
**Category(s):** Romance, Humor  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Disclaimer:** I don’t own Josh and Donna et al. There are references to real people herewith, and I don’t own them either.   
**Summary:** It's Josh and Donna's Assistant Anniversary. Josh has plans. As usual, they don't work.  
**Author's Note:** I’m Australian, and this was begun before Bartlet’s 3rd SotU. This swaps between Josh and Donna’s POV, and starts with Josh’s. And for reasons that will soon become obvious, 17 People and the disputed anniversary didn't happen. 

* * *

CJ rescues me. My beautiful Claudia Jean uses the beloved adjoining door to rescue me. I’m ready to kiss CJ. Well, not really, because we have that whole I’m an elitist jackass and she’s a paranoid feminista thing going. It’s subverted love. 

But I’m halfway through a painful explanation about it being Donna’s and mine Assistant Anniversary - and the accompanying celebration, money-spending and general Donna-worship that goes with that - when CJ opens the door. “CJ,” I say, mid-sentence, my tone admittedly joyful. 

I like Joey. I like her enough to have dinner and a drink with her as friends, because our moment has passed. But not on our Assistant Anniversary, when Donna’s hair smells so incredibly divine and - CJ is talking. 

“Joey, I think Andie is looking for you. She’s in the Mural Room,” CJ adds, gesturing to the adjoining door. “The quickest way is through here.” 

“Our flight is at eight o'clock this evening,” Kenny informs me. 

I smile at Joey. “Well, it’s been nice seeing you, Joey.” It’s true: Joey is feisty and vivacious and doesn’t take any crap from me. Reminds me of a blonde I know. 

“It was good to see you too,” Joey answers. 

“I’ll see you next time you’re out here. Or I’m in California.” 

“Yeah.” Then Joey hesitates, before continuing, “Donna’s crazy about you too.” 

She holds my gaze - firm and unyielding - then leaves. 

“Don’t even think it,” CJ glares at me. “Donna is not crazy about you. Donna is crazy _because_ of you. You have made Donna insane. And me, too.” She returns to her office, only to open the adjoining door two seconds later to snap, “I can tell you’re thinking about it.” 

“Sorry.” I attempt to focus on the amendment to Section 51 ACC, regarding unconscionable conduct. 

What exactly does that mean? Donna’s mad about me too? That would suggest _I’m_ mad about _her_ in the first place. 

This is Donna we’re talking about. The woman who overstated everything and took over my life. Donna, who almost never stops reeling off useless pieces of trivia; the woman who has bad handwriting, and refuses to bring me coffee. 

Back to 51 ACC: That these sections do not apply to the supply of financial services. 

She of the thirty-four freckles and the fine blonde hair and long legs that are so distracting they should be made illegal. Donna, who’s wearing her best suit, shoes, and jewelry and the perfume CJ gave her for her birthday last year. 

Unconscionable conduct: the innocent party has to have had a weakness at the time of dealings. 

Donna, who ruins my whole day - week - by being angry with me. 

Unconscionable conduct: the stronger party has to have known about the weaker party’s situation. 

Donna, the walking encyclopaedia, who constantly astounds me with her intelligence and thirst for knowledge, who has distinctive penmanship, and although she refuses to bring me coffee, she makes me laugh instead. 

Focus, Josh, focus. 

Whether as a result of the conduct engaged in by the supplier, the business consumer was required to comply with conditions that were not reasonably necessary for the protection of the legitimate interest of the supplier. 

Donnatella Isabelle Moss, with her stupid rules and our lunches and her hugs, and her tears and her shaking hands, because I was shot and my world fell apart, but she stitched it back together for me. 

Well, I now have two severe problems. 

Problem One: It’s never occurred to me that Donna could possibly be crazy about me in return. 

Problem Two: I’m not just crazy about Donna. I’m in love with her. 

**** 

Six minutes later, I’m the middle of reeling in shock from my revelation - and doing a fairly good job of it - when Toby enters my office. Through CJ’s door. 

“Why did you use CJ’s door?” 

Toby’s flaps his hand. “It’s closer than going around to your door. And she’s doing her briefing.” 

“Oh.” Toby hovers about my office. “What can I do for you?” 

“I knew someone was coming from the Ethics Committee. It was supposed to be Waltham, but he’s sick or something, so he sent Andie in his place.” 

Why is he talking to me about this? Surely he can see that firstly, I have the rest of my reeling from my revelation to get on with, and secondly, I’m useless at helping people with their personal problems. Helping people with their personal problems usually involves listening to them, and remaining patient, and thinking before I open my mouth to offer advice. 

It never ends well. 

“Oh,” I reply again. 

Toby doesn’t seem to notice that I’m subtly signalling my disinterest, and continues. “I think I should say something to CJ.” 

Okay, even I - Joshua Lyman, Idiot Extraordinaire - can tell that’s a bad idea. “Are you sure about that? CJ knows you didn’t know.” 

“I think I should...” he trails off and flaps his hand again. “I should...” 

“Finish your sentence?” 

He stares daggers at me. “Apologize or...something.” 

I stare at him in horror. “You apologize, you’ll scare her. In the Bartlet Administration Bible, Toby Ziegler actually apologising - instead of just skirting around the word - is the seventh sign of the Armageddon.” 

“Now I remember why I didn’t want to talk to you about this, being that the sixth sign is Joshua Lyman not screwing up for once.” 

I sigh. “If you apologize, you’ll remind CJ of the whole...thing, and the professional relationship you’ve cultivated will fall apart.” 

Toby blinks. “You’re saying I should act as if nothing happened?” 

“Yes. No. Be nice to her for the next few days, just don’t talk to her about it.” 

Toby rubs his face. “Yeah.” 

“Today’s already upset the balance between you two. Don’t make it worse.” 

“I know.” He looks at me, silently asking the same thing CJ did this morning. 

“Yes, Toby,” I say softly, “She thinks about it.” 

He leaves quietly, and I realize that what I said to Toby also applies to me. 

Donna and I have upset the balance enough today. The condoms and the thirty-four freckles and her being mad at me for something I’m still not clear about. Telling her I love her isn’t something I can take back afterwards, or pass off as a moment of stupidity. Particularly when being in love with your assistant could mean bringing down an entire administration. 

So, I return to unconscionable conduct. 

I realize I’m never going to be the same person again. 

******** 

Dr. Freeride. 

Dr. Freeride is standing right in front of me. 

No, really, he is. I know it’s real, because I’ve been pinching myself repeatedly for the past twenty seconds and he’s still standing there. 

“Hello Donna,” he says, smiling. 

“Matt,” I manage weakly. 

His grin grows wider. “Surprise!” 

Yep. Sur-fucking-prise. “Uh...how did you know where I worked?” 

“I bumped into your sister a few months ago, and she told me where you worked.” 

"Which sister?" 

"Ebony." 

I never liked Ebony. 

Matt continues. “I wanted to look you up, see how you were. How are you?” 

He wants to have a regular conversation? I want to climb under the desk and stay there until next week. “I’m good.” I’m really not. “How are you?” 

“Good. It’s so great to see you Donna. I didn’t believe Ebony when she said you worked in the White House. For the Deputy Chief of Staff nonetheless.” 

Yeah, pretty good for the girl who would - and I quote Matt verbatim - never do better than him or get any further than Wisconsin, because some people just aren’t destined for greatness. 

I got Josh Lyman and the White House, asshole. The President of the United States knows my full name and laughs at some of my jokes. 

“You look fantastic,” he adds, when no response from me is forthcoming. 

I frown. “How did you get into the building? You need a pass.” 

“I used my good looks and charm on the security guards,” Matt tells me. Matthew Harris makes Josh look like a humble man. No, really, he does. 

“That’s funny,” I say, with a false smile, “Because the security guards are supposed to be immune to good looks and charm.” 

“I told them I was your boyfriend in college and I really wanted to see you.” 

Great. Within the hour, courtesy of the loud-mouthed security guards, the entire building will know that my ex-boyfriend visited me. 

“And they let you through. Just like that," I comment disbelievingly. 

Matt shrugs. “Yeah. Anyway, I was wondering - would your boss mind if we went for coffee right now? I’d like to catch up on old times. I’ve missed you.” 

He’s missed me? He’s missed me as much as he’d miss having gonorrhea. And what does he want to catch-up on? How badly my friends want to kick his ass for the way he treated me? How much money he owes me? The two years of my life he took from me? How about the scars to my self-esteem that were slowly healed when I met this amazing man who respected me and listened to me... 

Josh. 

Josh could walk out here any minute. It would be ugly. It would be... 

“Donna!” 

I wonder if my pencil is sharp enough to go all the way through my eye. Josh is standing in his doorway, with a piece of paper in one hand, the other on his hip and a frown on his face. 

Just shoot me now. 

“Josh,” I say, deliberately not looking at him, “This is Matthew Harris. Matt, this is Joshua Lyman, the Deputy White House Chief of Staff.” 

Matt holds out his hand, “I’ve seen you on television.” 

"I got that a lot," Josh says, shaking Matt’s hand. “Are you a friend of Donna’s?” 

I hold my breath in anticipation. “We were at college together,” Matt says. 

“Oh, okay. Donna, I need that research on the thing.” 

I finally twist to look at him. “Five minutes.” 

“Okay,” he nods, unconcerned. He turns to Matt. “It was nice to meet you.” 

Oh, if only you knew, Josh. 

“Same here, Josh,” Matt replies, all smiles. Although I’m having vivid homicidal fantasies involving Matt and hepatomancy, even I have to admit that my bastard ex-boyfriend can be the consummate charmer. 

“Five minutes,” Josh clarifies with me, and I nod. He heads back to his office, and I start breathing again. Now I only have to get rid of Dr. Freeride. 

“I’m in town for a medical conference,” Matt says, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Josh freeze mid-step. No, no, no, no, no. The one time I need Josh not to be an expert at putting seemingly random pieces of information together and coming up with the right answer, and he does. I'm never working for a politician again. 

Josh turns round slowly. “You’re a doctor?” he asks. 

Matt looks confused by Josh’s intensity, but nods. “Yes.” 

“And you and Donna are old _friends_?” 

The emphasis of the word isn’t lost on Matt. “Well, we dated for two years.” 

Excuse me while I perform seppuku with the letter opener. 

“Really?” Josh’s voice is low and terrifying. “You’re Dr....” 

I stand abruptly. “Matt, could you excuse us for a minute?” I pivot and throw Josh into his office. 

“Donna!” he says, backing me up against the door. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” I step away from him - I can’t handle Concerned Josh now. It’s taking all my resolve to hold back my tears. I’m furious Matt can still do this to me. 

“You’re not fine,” Josh disputes hotly. “That’s Dr. Free...” 

“I know,” I interrupt. 

“No, but that’s Dr. Freeride out there,” Josh bursts out. “That’s _Dr. Freeride_ , your asshole ex-boyfriend.” 

“Stop yelling,” I yell. I lower my voice. “I _know_ , Josh.” 

Josh begins to pace. “He’s standing out there, in _my_ bullpen, with that shit-eating grin. ‘We’re old friends’. ‘We dated for two years’. Dated? He treated you like dirt, took you for granted, and didn’t respect your intelligence, but he thinks he can waltz into _my_ bullpen, and act like nothing happened? I don’t think so.” Josh stops in front of me. I’m blocking the door. “Get out of my way.” 

“Josh,” I begin, trying to make sense of everything. Matt’s out there, Josh is talking about how intelligent I am, and now he’s going to do something stupid. 

“Out of the way,” he repeats. “I’m going to make that man wish he’d never laid eyes on me.” 

“What are you going to do, Josh? Beat him up?” 

“Damn straight.” Josh stares me down. “And after that, I’m going to...” 

“Stop it! You’re not doing anything. You’re staying here, whilst I tell Matt that I’m too busy to have coffee with him.” 

“He wants to have coffee with you?” Josh grabs me around the waist, lifts me up and moves me. I’m serious. He just picked me up and put me down five feet to the left of where I was just standing. If I weren’t so overwhelmed, I’d be turned...I’m not going there. 

Josh reaches for the door handle. Panicked, I grab him around the waist and haul him away. What else was I supposed to do - reason with him? Have you met Determined Josh? 

“Let go of me,” Josh demands, but I hold him with a vice grip. My ex-boyfriend is standing in _my_ bullpen, whilst I’m trying to stop my indignant, hostile boss from beating the crap out of said ex-boyfriend. 

“Josh,” I implore, my words wavering because the tears are really threatening. 

He stops up short, and suddenly, we’re standing in the middle of his office, my arms around Josh’s waist from behind, his broad, supple back aligned with my body. 

“Donna,” he says in a soft voice. 

“Don’t,” I say softly. “Don’t say my name like that.” 

“Donnatella,” he says again and it almost undoes me. 

“It’s endearing that you want to beat Matt up, but the press are everywhere, and it wouldn’t do much for your career." 

“I don’t care.” 

I rest my head on his shoulder. “I do. I care.” 

Josh places his hands over mine and for a moment, I don’t care how wrong this is. “He hurt you,” Josh says, his anger so stark that my eyes water over again. 

“Yes, but I have to handle this myself. It’s been three years since I left him. I’m a stronger person.” 

“You always were a stronger person.” 

It needs to be said, so I say it. “Yes, but you made me believe it. And now, you have to let me fight this one on my own.” 

“Can I tell Sam and Toby that I wanted to beat him up but you thought I might kill him with my Herculean strength?” 

I smile against his neck. Only Josh can make me want to laugh and cry at the same time. “I’ll get that research for you.” Although it hurts to, I pull away from Josh and walk towards the door. 

Josh catches my hand before I leave. “Donna...” 

“I’ll be fine Josh.” 

I probably won’t be. 

******** 

One minute later, I throw open Sam’s door and find him on the phone. He takes one look at my face and hangs up. “What’s up?” he asks, pulling his glasses off, all seriousness and readiness. 

“Dr. Freeride.” 

Sam’s brow crinkles; he obviously expected a political crisis. “Dr. Freeride?” 

I point, trying to find words. I’m so angry and still reeling from my earlier revelation that I’m not even sure I point in the right direction. Thankfully, Sam has become adept at interpreting at me. 

“Dr. Freeride’s out there?” Sam asks. I nod. “Talking to Donna?” I nod again. Sam's voice gets louder. “Dr. Freeride is out there talking to our Donna?” 

“My Donna,” I correct. 

The door opens, and it’s Toby. "I'm sure that neither of you is familiar with the concept, but I'm attempting to write something resembling a speech, and the noise you're making isn't exactly conducive to my work.” 

“Dr. Freeride is out there talking to our Donna,” Sam interrupts, bristling with indignation and all those other Sam-like qualities I love. 

“My Donna,” I repeat. 

Toby frowns. “Dr. Freeride is that sobriquet you invented for ass Donna dropped out of college for?” And people say that Toby pays no attention to his colleagues’ personal lives. 

“Yes,” I confirm. 

Toby shrugs nonchalantly. “Let’s go beat the crap out of him.” 

That’s more like it. Toby and Sam can be just as rash as I am. Sam nods. “I’ll...” But Sam’s door slams behind us and the three of us jump. 

It’s CJ, of course. 

Sam hugs closer to his desk, I step behind a chair and Toby looks around desperately for some form of cover. CJ's face is slowly going purple. 

“Why would three grown men want to beat anybody up? In the White House? In the _god damned_ White House! Do you know what would happen? Do you have any idea of the ramifications this administration would face? Leo would eviscerate me for letting you three morons roam free! Then he’d kill you. And I'd come back from the dead to kick your asses around some more! Let alone the fact that between the three of you, you couldn’t beat up a little kid. And Toby, I expected more from you!” 

This all comes out in a rush and we’re trying to process what she said, which is why stunned silence ensues. “Answer me!” she demands. 

“CJ,” Sam begins, “You have to understand. It’s...” 

“I don’t care,” she interrupts. “You three supposedly run the free world! We can all sleep safe at night, knowing that our country is run by juvenile men who go around beating defenseless people into a pulp! Good God, I didn't think this day could get much worse, I didn't reckon on the combined power of the Three Stooges." 

“CJ,” Toby interjects. 

CJ gesticulates wildly at Toby. “I expected more from you!” 

“You already said that,” he points out quietly. 

I get in before the next wave of admonition. “Dr. Freeride is in the bullpen asking Donna for coffee, and she said that she wants to handle it, but Sam, Toby and I have decided to beat him up.” 

CJ takes a deep breath. "Well, why didn't you say so in the first place?" She calmly opens the door. “Let’s go kick his ass.” 

**** 

When we emerge from Sam’s office, Kathy, Bonnie and Ginger stop their various tasks and stare at us with consternation. 

“Ah...” Kathy begins, “What’s going on?” 

Sam says, “Dr. Freeride has managed to finagle his way into the building and is now asking Donna for coffee.” 

“Finagle?” Toby questions. 

“It’s a word,” Sam protests. “How about it, girls?” 

“He’s going down,” Ginger intones, as we exit the Communications bullpen. 

We grab Carol, giving her a quick explanation, and continue towards battle. 

“I’m just saying that nobody uses it in real conversation,” Toby continues. 

"I do," Sam says. 

Toby snorts. "Sam, your vocabulary..." 

“Shut up,” everyone says. 

We round the corner and find Donna typing serenely at her computer. 

Dr. Freeride is nowhere to be seen. 

“Where is he?” I ask. I think I sound crestfallen. 

“Hmm?” Donna looks up and recoils at the octet assembled in front of her desk. “What are you all doing here?” 

Toby frowns. “Josh said...Dr. Freeride...” 

“Coffee,” Sam adds helpfully, “And finagling.” 

“Oh.” She shrugs. “I told him I was busy.” 

“And he just went away?” Sam asks doubtfully. 

“Yes. He was disappointed, gave me his hotel number and left.” 

“You’re not going to call him, are you?” CJ questions. 

Donna gives her an arch look. “Yes, CJ, I’m going to call him tonight, tell him that I miss being his slave, that I made a terrible mistake in leaving him _twice,_ and although it's asking a lot, could he please take me back and make me miserable?” 

“Yeah, okay, stupid question,” CJ apologizes. 

Donna surveys us. “Were you all coming to rescue me?” Nobody answers. She looks at me. “Josh?” My feet are suddenly fascinating. “Josh.” 

“I just casually mentioned to Sam that Dr. Freeride was out here...” 

“They were being noisy,” Toby adds. 

“I wanted to ensure the Three Stooges didn’t do anything stupid,” CJ explains. 

“And we were trying to get out of work,” Ginger finishes. 

“That’s sweet.” Donna looks up at me. “Josh, I’ve got that research for you.” 

I realize what’s going on. Donna’s being nice to the others, but she’s going to drag me into my office, under the premise of research, and kill me. The others must come to the same conclusion, because they give a flurry of excuses and disappear. Who needs enemies when I have friends? 

“You couldn’t let me handle things on my own?” is the first thing Donna says. 

“I was just looking for an excuse to beat Dr. Freeride up. The guy has an agenda, Donna.” 

She shrugs. “Matt always did, and I used to just fall in line. These days I don’t care what his agenda is - I’m not interested in having coffee with him.” 

But she’s doing that thing where she tells the truth, but not completely. She’s wearing her overly-sincere face, and I can there’s something she’s not telling me. 

“So that’s all there was to it?” 

“Yeah,” Donna nods, and she’s being truthful about that. She told him she was busy; he accepted that; he gave Donna his hotel number and left. 

So what isn’t she telling me? 

******** 

For about six months after I left Matt, I had these vivid dreams of him showing up and begging me to come back to him. I would deliver a righteous speech about what a bastard he was, and how I wouldn’t go back to him if he were the last man on earth. 

Then one night, we were travelling from God Knows Where to Who the Hell Cares on the bus. Only Toby and I were awake. I was staring out the window when Toby asked me who Matt was. I must have looked mortified, because Toby explained that I’d been talking in my sleep and he’d heard me say the name Matt. 

“Oh,” I blushed. “He was...he was someone I knew.” 

“You don’t like him much anymore, do you?” 

“No,” I admitted. 

It took me a long time to be comfortable in Toby’s presence. Sam I loved from the second we met; Leo scared me until he told me about Josh’s graduation day and I realized how much Leo loves Josh; and I absolutely worshipped CJ. 

Toby was different. Like President Bartlet, you know when Toby walks into a room. But the President’s presence is mostly benevolent. Powerful, and determined, but compassionate. Toby’s presence is dark and slow-burning and often disconcerting, and it wasn’t until I understood that Toby is perhaps the most idealistic of us all, that I could be comfortable with him. 

"If you hate him, you’re thinking about him. You’re focusing on him," Toby continued in that stumbling way of his, when he's trying to help you without you knowing it. 

He resumed writing and I returned to the prairies, and by the time the others starting to stir, I’d realized Toby had a point. After all, Toby knows all about psychologically damaging relationships. And I didn’t need to get revenge. 

Don’t get me wrong. Nobody can walk away from a relationship like that and suddenly be okay about it. I was still angry and upset for months, but there was a campaign, and a group of people who became my family and it didn’t matter so much. 

Thing is, I’m really wishing I’d told him what an asshole he was to me. 

After all, a girl’s gotta get a little satisfaction, right? 

**** 

Twenty minutes later, I’m typing a memo when I realize I left the documents I need in Josh’s office, which is where I find him still working on the amendments. After I grab the pertinent documents, I notice Josh’s jacket is hung across the back of his chair again. I walk around to Josh’s side of the desk to collect it. 

“What are you doing?” he asks in an odd tone, when I step towards him. 

“Collecting your jacket. Something wrong?” 

“No,” he answers too quickly, moving his chair away from me. “Why do you need to get the jacket?” 

“Because,” I answer, bemused, “I always hang your jacket up and it always ends up on one of your chairs. Or the filing cabinet. Or even on my chair.” I collect the jacket. 

He seems to sigh in relief when I step back from him. Then he looks at me askance. “I don’t think it’s you,” he tells me. 

“And the winner of today’s non-sequitur award is Joshua Lyman.” 

“The perfume you’re wearing. I don’t think it’s you.” 

“It’s a very expensive perfume and how would you know what perfume is right for me anyway?” 

“I just...” he trails off and mumbles something. 

“Strangely, it’s a little hard to hear you when you’re mumbling.” 

“I...nothing,” Josh returns to his amendments. 

Yeah, I’m going to let him out of it that easily. “Josh, I’ll have to pull out Julia Roberts again.” 

“And what makes you think that’d be a problem?” 

“Nice try at misdirection. My perfume is just...what?” 

“Distracting.” 

I blink. Several times. “My perfume is distracting?” 

“No. Yes. It’s...hard to concentrate when you stand so close, and you’re wearing that perfume and I...I get distracted.” 

“By my perfume?” I try and clarify again. 

“Yes,” Josh says with exasperation. “Just...don’t stand so close.” 

“My perfume distracts you?” 

“Yes! How many times do I have to say it?” 

I cross my arms. “You’ve never said anything about it before.” 

“Don’t you have things to do?” 

I shrug. “Later. How is my perfume distracting?” 

“Go away,” Josh tries again. 

“No.” I stand there with my arms crossed and a glare on my face, until Josh begins to fidget. It’s so easy to play him it’s almost unfair. 

“I just...I think about...other things when you wear that perfume.” 

“Is this like the nose thing?” I ask quietly. 

His forehead crinkles up. “The nose thing?” 

“This morning, when I reminded you of your meeting with Leo, you stared at my nose. Is it like that?” 

Josh nods. “Yeah, it is.” 

“Is my nose distracting?” I ask. 

"No. But there are thirty-four freckles on your nose.” 

“You - you counted the number of freckles on my nose?” 

“You should really go away from me now,” he tells me. “CJ will yell again.” 

“For discussing my nose? You counted the freckles on my nose?” 

“Probably. And yes.” 

“You know you’re insane, right?” 

“Yes,” Josh admits without hesitation. “Now go away.” 

I close the door behind me, still confused. 

And find Zoey and Charlie standing in front of my desk. 

**** 

During the campaign, of the core group of people, I was the closest person in age to Zoey. She used to help me out, which Mrs. Bartlet appreciated, because it gave Zoey something to do. Zoey also appreciated it, because she had a rather obvious crush on Josh. So, we spent a lot of time together, and right now, I can tell Zoey has a problem. And on a scale of one to ten, it looks like an eleven. 

“Is Josh in?” Charlie asks, sounding slightly spaced. 

“Yes.” 

“Could we see him?” 

Zoey still hasn’t spoken. “Zoey?” I ask quietly. 

“We need to speak to Josh,” Charlie reiterates. Zoey’s lip starts to quiver. 

“Okay.” I open Josh’s door. “Charlie and Zoey are here to see you.” 

I hold back the door and Charlie steps into the room. Zoey’s about to cross the threshold when she grabs my hand. “Donna,” she says desperately. I don’t care if Charlie just wants to see Josh; I’m not leaving Zoey. 

Josh can tell something is wrong. “Zoey, do you want a seat?” 

“No,” she says. “We have a problem.” She looks helplessly over at Charlie. 

Charlie is leaning against the wall. “Ah...Zoey is...late.” 

I close my eyes. Oh. My. God. 

“For what?” Josh asks in bewilderment. Ten seconds later, it hits him. “Oh.” He looks at Zoey, then to Charlie, then back at Zoey. “Well. Shit.” 

“How late?” I ask. 

“Ten days.” 

Josh speaks carefully. “What...when did you..." 

“I realized this morning,” Zoey interrupts his hesitant question. “I’d go to Mom, but she’s in Buenos Aires, and Ellie and Liz are too far away, and Dad...well...” 

“So we came to the two of you,” Charlie says simply. 

“It’s not like we didn’t use protection,” Zoey says hurriedly, her words almost falling out of her mouth. “We did. But I was so distracted by this essay I had to write, which was extra credit anyway, and I lost track of the days...” 

I interject, “Have you...did...” The men in this room are cramping my style. 

Thankfully, Josh realizes it’s time he and Charlie left. “Charlie and I are going for a walk.” He looks at me meaningfully. “Do you need us to get anything?” 

There’s only one way to find out if this is as bad as we think it is. “Yes,” I answer softly. “Use the chemist near Pete’s Deli, and try to be served by a girl called Amelia. She knows nothing about politics, so she won’t recognize you and Charlie.” 

He nods and starts to shepherd Charlie out of the room. “Zoey,” Charlie begins, “Are...” But Josh pushes him out of the room and closes the door. 

And, as I predicted she would, Zoey bursts into a flood of tears. 

******** 

Charlie glares at me, but I keep pushing him through the bullpen. “Right now, you’re the last person she wants to see. She needs to be with Donna." 

We bypass CJ’s office hurriedly - considering CJ can sniff trouble a mile off, I don’t want to take any chances. We get by fine, but I hold my breath until we’re out of the building. Charlie is silent all the way down New York Ave, and I have to stop him from walking into other pedestrians twice. There are a million one thoughts flying through his brain, and they're all drowned out by the absolute inability to think properly. I know what that feels like. 

“We were safe,” he says, while we wait for the lights to change at 14th Street. “I don’t want you to think... _I_ was the one who didn’t want to, because I thought she would regret it, but...” 

“I know,” I reassure him. Charlie is a true gentleman. 

He continues. “My little sister loves Zoey. She’s crazy about her. She told Zoey and I the other day that Zoey would make a great Mom one day and we laughed. Then after lunch today, Zoey came to see me, and she said, ‘Hey Charlie... that one day might be today’.” 

We cross the road, and pass Pete’s Deli and Charlie stops. “I should get something for the President,” he says seriously. 

I pull him towards the drugstore. “Charlie, it’s four o’clock - I’m sure the President’s already eaten.” 

“Zoey does all the voices when she reads to my sister.” 

“My Mom did that too,” I tell him, and we enter the drugstore. I skirt around a blonde woman and head for the pregnancy tests. “We better take two.” 

"Why?" 

"Just...just in case." I grab the first brand I see. “Who was the woman...the one who knew nothing about politics?” 

“Amelia,” Charlie supplies, with his excellent memory. “I’d say she’s the one wearing the nametag that says Amelia. She's crazy about Zoey.” 

“Amelia?" 

"My sister." 

"You said that already,” I point out gently. 

We walk up to the counter and I hand the tests over. “Nice day outside, isn’t it?” Amelia asks politely, scanning the barcodes. 

“Yes,” I agree, smiling as if everything is perfectly normal. 

“$15.90, thanks.” I hand over the money. The blonde woman from before arrives at the counter as Amelia puts the tests in a paper bag. “Your change, sir. And who’s the lucky man?” Amelia inquires coyly. 

Charlie freezes. 

“Ah...I am,” I answer, before smiling weakly and marching out of the store. 

**** 

Seventeen minutes later, I’m leaning against a 200-year-old wall, staring at the Giotto outside Zoey’s bathroom. She’s possibly pregnant and I’m gazing at an original Giotto. A freaking Giotto. 

We made it back to my office without bumping into anybody. We found Zoey and Donna sitting on the floor. Donna was telling the story of how her grandparents met. Donna told me that story, one night after the shooting, when I couldn't sleep. Although Zoey probably didn’t hear a word, Donna’s voice was mellifluous and calming and even Charlie stopped fidgeting when he heard her. 

>From there, the Amazing Donnatella took complete control. She marched us over to the Residence, took the tests from me - commended me for buying two - and told Charlie and I to wait in the hallway. 

I don’t wait well. Anybody who’s known for me than three minutes can tell you that I’m impatient. For example, I like my burger burnt beyond recognition, but I get impatient waiting for the kitchen to cook it that way, even though I know that's the way I like it, and I'll probably yell if I doesn't come that way. Yeah, so, impatient. 

But if I’m antsy right now, Charlie’s a total mess. He’s pacing; he starts sentences and breaks off mid-way; pulls at his tie, fiddles with his cuffs and looks at me with these beseeching eyes. 

I reach out a hand and stop him mid-step. “Stop pacing.” 

Charlie looks at his feet. “Sorry.” 

I exhale slowly. “Charlie...whatever it is...” 

But the bathroom door opens before I can finish. 

******** 

I have two older sisters. Ebony, then Lucy, who’s three years younger than Ebony, and three years older than I am. 

And before you think Lucy got the normal name, it’s short for Lucrezia. As in Lucrezia Borgia. I think I did pretty well with Donnatella. 

Ebony’s only six years older, but she’s always acted as if it was ten, and that created a lack of understanding that still remains. We like each other - we just can’t relate. Ebony treated Lucy the same way, so we turned to each other. It was Lucy I played Barbie’s with, Lucy who told me the truth about Santa Claus and sex, Lucy’s clothes I borrowed, and Lucy who brought me alcohol when I was underage. 

When I started at University of Wisconsin, Lucy was in her final year of nursing and was dating Adam Rowe, who later became her husband. 

I remember with absolute clarity the day she told me she’d found a lump on her breast. It wasn’t the idea that she might have breast cancer that almost killed Lucy. It was waiting for the results. 

It was three and a half weeks of torture. I’ve only been through one thing worse, and during those fourteen hours, every second I waited, little fragments of me kept crumbling away, until I was terrified there’d be nothing left. 

But waiting isn’t the knife-edge cliché everyone pulls out and dusts off. It’s like being stuck in the middle of a prairie that stretches for miles and all you can see for as far as you look is flat, shapeless land. 

I’ve never had to take one of these tests, thank God, but I’ve sat waiting with friends, in cold, unforgiving bathrooms, when I was supposed to be studying Brecht or revising my French impassive verbs. 

Now I’m in the White House, with the First Daughter, and it occurs to me that it doesn’t matter who you are or where you live. It’s the waiting that kills you. 

Zoey emerges from the toilet with the stick in hand. She looks at me and I point to the cup sitting on the basin, where she delicately places it. She washes and dries her hands, her movements overly precise. 

Then she lowers herself gently to the edge of the bathtub where I’m sitting. She looks so awfully young. She’s wearing jeans and a turtleneck, her hair is pulled back in a messy knot, her pink nail polish is chipping and she’s chewing her lower lip. 

I could distract her with another inane story, but it wouldn’t make the next three minutes even remotely bearable. Instead, I place my hand over hers. 

One minute. 

“I remember when Liz found out she was pregnant with Annie.” Zoey’s voice is husky with unshed tears. “Dad cried.” 

“When my sister announced she was pregnant, all my Dad said was ‘Well, at least you’re married’.” 

“Mom rang Liz everyday to check on her, and Dad went around the house telling everybody exactly what stage of development the baby was in. And when Annie was born I got to hold her, when she was just twenty minutes old.” 

Two minutes. 

“What did your sister have?” she asks me. 

“She had a boy...Gideon. He’s five now. And she had a daughter, Celeste, a few years later. The day after we won the New York primary, actually.” 

“I remember that day. It was only a month after Josh’s father died, and when the numbers came through, he just stood there.” 

“I remember that too.” It was awful. Everyone else was jumping up and down, but Josh just stood there with this blank, little-boy look on his face. Ever since Chicago, Josh expects bad news on election days. 

“I wanted to help him, say something, but I didn’t know what. But you went over to him,” Zoey continues. “You just took his hand, and said something to him. And Josh wrapped his arms around you, and stood like that for five minutes, while chaos was erupting around you. I always wondered what you said to him.” 

I stroke Zoey’s thumb. “‘Your father knows’.” 

Three minutes. 

“I can’t be anybody’s mother right now.” Zoey’s voice is tearing up. “I still need my own mother too much.” 

“Time to look,” I tell her. 

Zoey exhales shakily. “I can’t. Would you look for me? Please?” 

I shake my head. “No. You have to look.” I take her chin between my fingers. “You have to look.” 

We stand slowly, and suddenly the stick is in Zoey’s hand and we’re looking at it. Her other hand squeezes mine, and her eyes go wide. 

“I’ll get Charlie,” I tell her. 

I walk over and open up the bathroom door. 

****

Hepatomancy: Divination through observance and interpretation of the surfaces and cavities of animal livers. Etruscans, Hittites, and Babylonians typically sacrificed sheep and oxen, but there are unproven and entirely dubious reports that some cults used humans.


	4. Better Than Perfect 4

**Better Than Perfect**

**by:** Ygrawn

**Character(s):** Josh and Donna, with some ensemble  
**Pairing(s):** J/D  
**Category(s):** Romance, Humor  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Disclaimer:** I don’t own Josh and Donna et al. There are references to real people herewith, and I don’t own them either.   
**Summary:** It's Josh and Donna's Assistant Anniversary. Josh has plans. As usual, they don't work.  
**Author's Note:** I’m Australian, and this was begun before Bartlet’s 3rd SotU. This swaps between Josh and Donna’s POV, and starts with Josh’s. And for reasons that will soon become obvious, 17 People and the disputed anniversary didn't happen. 

* * *

When the bathroom door opens, Donna stands there, and I can’t read her face. 

“Charlie,” she says, stepping into the hallway. “You can go in now.” 

Charlie throws me a desperate look before he enters. 

Donna leans against the wall next to me. I’m afraid to ask, so we lean against the wall in silence for two minutes. “Donna,” I finally prod, unable to go on like this. 

She looks at me. “One stripe.” I keep staring at her. “False alarm, Josh.” 

I’m about to express my relief, when the bathroom door opens and Zoey and Charlie are standing before us. They don’t look particularly thrilled, but nobody is crying. I think that's a good sign. 

“I’m sorry,” Zoey says in a small voice, “For putting everyone through this...” 

“Don’t be sorry,” Donna interrupts. “You were right to worry.” 

“You don’t have to apologize Zoey,” I add. 

“Um...” She looks at Donna. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” They walk down the hall and Zoey pulls Donna into a crushing hug. Their eyes are suspiciously wet. Or not so suspiciously, really. 

“Thanks,” Charlie says in his quiet, grave way. Charlie can be so still, sometimes. “The first person I thought of was you.” 

“You’re welcome," I say, strangely touched by the sentiment. I don't want to become the Pregnancy Scare Guy, but it's nice that Charlie trusted me so implicitly. "And, hey," I continue, awkwardly, "Just because she’s not...well, you should still talk about it.” 

“We will,” he promises. 

“Go on then.” 

He nods, and collects Zoey, pulling her down the hallway. He stops when he’s a few feet away from me. “Josh?” 

“Yes?” 

“You knew. You just knew.” He and Zoey disappear around the corner. 

Donna eyes are curious, but instead, she says, “We should get back to work.” 

“Yeah.” I sigh and look at my watch. “We’ve got twenty-three minutes until the next disaster occurs.” 

“You’ll jinx us,” she scolds. “Now Sam's going to come to us and say that he accidentally slept with a call girl. Oh wait, he already did that." 

I smile. "C'mon - let's get out of the Residence." 

We’re walking down the stairs when I suddenly stop her. We won't be able to do this back in the Third Circle of Hell. Otherwise known as my bullpen. 

“Why don’t we sit for a moment?” I ask. 

She frowns. “Here...on the stairs?” 

I sit on the third step. “Yes.” 

"These hundred year old stairs?" 

"Well, I'm sure that they were originally part of the White House - it's possible they added during one of the extensions." 

Donna sits after a second of hesitation. “Charlie said you knew.” 

I look away. “Have I ever talked about my cousin, Rachel?” 

“Perfect Rachel?” 

I nod. “Yes. Rachel’s two years younger than me, and she was a sophomore at Harvard when I was a senior. We’d have a meal once a week, sort of a family obligation thing, but we didn’t really socialize. Seven weeks before finals she showed up at my door, crying, and rambling incoherently.” 

“She was pregnant.” 

Donna will never fail to astound me with her perceptiveness. 

“Yes. The father...he’d dumped her, and wasn’t interested, and Rachel was terrified about what her parents would say. My aunt Ruth and uncle Jacob are very strict. They would have seen it as bringing-shame-on-the-family-name crap, plus they don’t believe in abortion. She didn’t want her parents to find out.” 

Donna guesses what happened. “She had the abortion.” 

I nod. “I had no idea what to do, so I put her in the car, forgot about classes, and drove home, because I was sure my mother would know what to do. After she rolled her eyes about her sister-in-law, she organized the appointment, took Rachel there, drove her home, and looked after her. My Dad didn’t say much, but that night, he bought home peanut brittle, because he remembered that it was Rachel’s favourite. He was that kind of guy.” 

“What did you do?” 

“I stayed and felt useless. Rachel’s annoyed me my whole life, but she was so frightened. It was...” I shrug. “When she was better - physically, at least - we drove back to Cambridge. She was a mess, for ages. She’d burst into tears in the middle of a sentence, during lectures - even in her sleep. She didn’t eat, she wouldn’t talk about it, she refused to get out of bed, and I was the only one who knew what was wrong. 

“And the worst part was that I had no idea how to help her. So, I rang my Dad." 

"What did he say?" 

"He told me to get used it.” 

Donna half-smiles. “I wish I’d met your father. He sounds like a wonderful man.” 

“He was a pain in the ass,” I tell her without hesitation. “He was demanding, self-centred, and liked the sound of his own voice. But he had compassion and conviction. He had ridiculously high expectations for me, and he never let me off the hook. He never let me take the easy road.” 

“Isn’t that what the people who love us are supposed to do?” 

I laugh. “Probably. Look at how high my expectations for my friends are.” 

“And me?” she asks softly. 

“Ah, well, I probably the expect the most from you.” 

Donna looks away from me. “Don’t you ever feel...embarrassed about me?” 

Okay, I'm sorry. What _is_ she talking about? 

******** 

Josh is staring at me like I’m a moron with four heads (or a Republican), but the thing is, compared to all the other assistants and White House employees, I’m so under-qualified it’s ridiculous. 

And this is not fishing for compliments, or being a self-doubting wreck that needs constant reassurance. I’m a different person from the girl who left Dr. Freeride. I know I’m worth a lot to Josh, and that I do this job better than the other hundreds of people who applied to be the Deputy Chief of Staff’s assistant. 

But why do you think I make a point of repeating as much trivia as possible in front of Josh? Not just because it irritates him, and that’s who I am, but partly to remind him that I’m just as smart as everyone else in the White House, even though I may not have the piece of paper to prove it. 

“Why would I feel embarrassed about you?” Josh asks in his surely-that-wasn't-a-real-question voice. 

I shrug. “All the other assistants have degrees...Kathy has a Masters.” 

“In Early Modern European History. Only if Sam ever has to write a speech about the concept of the Individual in the development of the Reformation will it be useful.” 

“Well, the other day, you were talking to Margaret about the trade practice amendments and she knew what you were talking about.” 

“Margaret worked for the ranking Senator on Trade. You know more about parliamentary practice, and playing power politics than they ever will. Look what you did with Stackhouse - that was amazing.” 

“Yeah, but...” 

“No buts,” he interrupts. “I can’t believe you would think that having a degree makes somebody more intelligent than you are. A degree is not a measure of intelligence. And you know that.” 

“But I want one.” I don’t want to be Josh’s assistant for the rest of his life. I want to do what he does. 

Josh’s voice softens. “I know.” 

“I don’t have a degree and I’m working for the third most powerful man in the Bartlet Administration.” 

“Not for,” Josh shakes his head. “With.” 

“That’s even worse. I’m an unqualified drop-out who doesn’t know anything about trade practices.” 

“Donna, nobody gives a fuck about trade practices. And I don’t know a single person who thinks you’re an idiot. You know two weeks ago, when Bonnie was sick, so I lent you to Toby for half a day?” 

“Yes,” I say, uncertain of where this is going, although spending the day with Toby was interesting. Who knew he could speak French and Italian? Even if all he does spout profanity? And that he always buys Sam and Ginger a muffin at morning tea? 

“The following day, Toby came into my office and said, ‘Stop complaining so much about Donna. She could do your job without screwing up’.” 

I smile. “Toby’s right - I could do your job. But nobody will ever let me.” 

“Sure they will. You’re smart. You know it, and I know it. I also know that you’ll get your degree, and you’ll be brilliant at whatever you choose to do. And I’ll sit there and say ‘I hired her before she had a degree, when she had no experience whatsoever in politics’.” 

I can see what he’s doing. He's giving me the out, because this is becoming too serious. “So, it’ll be all about you?” I ask. 

“Of course,” Josh answers airily. “I gave you your big break, didn’t I?” 

“You did. And for all the late nights and weekends I spend here, and for the drunken visits I get at three in the morning, I am eternally grateful for that break.” 

“Well, for all the messages I couldn’t read even if I knew Sanskrit, and for all the times you refuse to bring me coffee, I am eternally grateful for giving you that break.” 

“I don’t refuse to bring you coffee, Josh. I just don’t do it.” 

Josh sighs. “I don’t expect you to bring me coffee because you’re my assistant. It’s a friend thing. Like when I go to get coffee, and I pass CJ’s office and say, ‘CJ, would you like some coffee?’ And she says, ‘Yes, thank you’. And I bring her coffee, because we’re friends and I’m already on my way to the coffee machine.” 

I eyeball him. “Josh, you get CJ coffee because you’re frightened of her, and next time you screw up, you want to be able to remind her that you brought her coffee.” 

He can’t deny it, and he knows it, so he stands up and clears his throat. “We should get back to work. I hear you’ve got this demanding boss who doesn’t like it when you go missing.” 

“Yeah. And I hear you’ve got this disrespectful assistant who gets worried when she can’t find you.” 

Josh shakes his head. “She loves it when I disappear. She claims I disrupt her when she’s trying to work. I don't actually know what that's about.” 

“She sounds like a pain in the ass assistant,” I grin. 

“Nah, I’m Guy with the Best Assistant in the Building.” 

******** 

We walk back down the West Colonnade to the office. 

It’s still beautiful outside - the sun is fading to dull gold. I don’t really notice my surroundings. I mean, sure, when we first got here, we were like little children, running around looking at the Blue Room, and the Cross Staircase, and the portraits of JFK, and we finally felt it. The...history of what we were doing. 

But literally days after we arrived, the crap started. The late nights, the stress, the in-fighting, leaking, the wheeling and dealing, and suddenly, it didn’t matter that it was the White House. The pretty office didn’t change a single damn thing. The novelty and the idealism and the brilliance couldn’t protect us. It was just as hard - if not harder - and I stopped looking at the place I work. 

But it’s truly beautiful. It’s majestic and huge and well...it’s the _White House_ , for God’s sake. 

Donna catches my eye and smiles. She understands this feeling because she was with us from the beginning. Just like the rest of us, she fought for this, fought for the belief that we could be here, and do it better than anybody else. 

When she could barely remember what day it was - when the hotel rooms began to blur together - she felt, like me, that this the place we needed to be. That’s what we were fighting for. 

She reaches for my hand and squeezes it. 

I’m feeling peaceful. And that, ladies and gentleman in my mistake. 

After condoms, snap health inspections, thirty-four freckles, bureaucracy stalling Donna’s raise, trade practice amendments, Julia, Richard, Joey, Kenny, Andie, Donna being mad at me, Dr. Freeride, the distracting perfume, and Zoey being late, I should have known better. 

We’re walking past the Communications Bullpen when it happens. 

“Donna!” calls Margaret from the middle of the bullpen, where she’s standing with Kathy, Bonnie, Ginger and Carol. 

Donna and I stop up short. 

“Yes?” Donna asks warily, sensing trouble. 

“You couldn’t tell us?” Margaret demands in an irate tone. “I had to find out from my _sister_?” This is a side of Margaret I’ve never seen, and frankly, it’s a little scary. 

Donna looks at me. “Do you know what they’re talking about?” 

I open my mouth to say no. 

“And _you_!” Margaret rounds on me. I close my mouth with a gulp. “Talking about spares," she continues, "And how it was an innocent mistake and you meant to send her flowers. CJ is going to kick your ass when she finds out.” 

I’ve never heard Margaret say the word ‘ass’ before. 

“But congratulations,” Ginger adds. “We’re so excited for you!” 

“We are,” Margaret admits, “And we’re still mad.” 

“I’m not mad,” Carol disputes. “But seriously guys - CJ really is going to kill you.” 

“And Leo, too,” Kathy adds. “But how long have you two been...” 

Donna’s brow is crinkled. “Gone?” she guesses. 

Margaret rolls her eyes. “No! You know what we’re talking about.” 

“We really don’t,” I reply. 

“You’re going to deny this? I have irrefutable proof and you’re going to stand there and deny it outright?” Her voice is on the rise again. “I thought you were my friend!” 

“I am your friend, Margaret,” Donna protests. “Deny what?” 

“That you and Josh are pregnant,” Margaret yells. 

Well, that’s one way to stop a room. 

******** 

“What?” shrieks somebody, at the pitch of a badly injured animal. “You’re what?” 

The voice is coming from Toby’s office, and I whip my head around, wondering what’s happened to Toby’s voice box. It’s not Toby. Well, Toby is standing there, but CJ is next to him and she’s the one who spoke. 

“You and Josh are...” she can’t finish her sentence. I think she might be hyperventilating. 

“Pregnant,” Toby supplies equably. 

“Who is?” Sam asks, emerging from his office with a stack of files. 

“Josh and Donna,” Kathy tells him. 

Sam drops the files and paper goes everywhere. “You're _what_?” 

“You told me it was nothing,” CJ says, getting louder. “Nothing, you said! Absolutely nothing! We’re just friends, you said. You lying...you...you got her pregnant, Joshua!” 

“She kind of helped me out with that,” Josh responds without thinking. 

“Josh!” My mouth drops open. “I’m not...” 

“How did this happen?” Sam demands. 

“I thought I gave you the birds and the bees talk last year, son,” Toby says, but disbelief marks his voice. 

“Shut up,” Sam replies with surprising viciousness. “When did this...I mean...how...where...what...how...” 

“You already said how,” Ginger tells him. 

"Thanks," Sam says absently. "Are you going to call it Sam?" 

"No," Josh and I say in unison. 

"They're having a girl anyway," Bonnie says. 

"How do you know?" Sam demands. 

"I just know these things," Bonnie says loftily. 

"Well, Samantha is a nice name." 

"So is Virginia," Ginger offers. 

Toby frowns. "What's Virginia got to do with anything?" 

"It's my name!" Ginger exclaims. "You know that Toby!" 

"I do?" 

"Toby!" 

CJ starts ranting again. “I’m supposed to tell the press corps that the Deputy Chief of Staff got his assistant pregnant, like I’m telling them the weather?" 

“Again,” Josh says, “I maintain that...” 

“And then I’m supposed to start talking about financial disclosure like the entire Right isn’t going to attack me with their family values and their workplace relations and the fact that you were screwing your assistant? In the White House, with the Oval Office three doors down the hallway?” CJ leans weakly against Toby’s doorway. I think she really is hyperventilating. “This entire administration is officially screwed. We should all packing up now, because I can’t get us out of this one.” 

“You’re my best friend, and you didn’t tell me,” Sam says forlornly. 

“Mary Marsh is going to have a field-day,” CJ moans. “She’s going to do her self-righteous act on every television program in the country, in every newspaper from the Post to the Hicksville Clarion. And then we’ll be fired, our careers in politics will be over, and I’ll have to go back to working for film companies that can't make good films.” 

“And Ann Stark,” Toby adds, rubbing his forehead. “Ann Stark will gloat because the Republicans will win office for the next five hundred years, and I’ll have to go back to losing elections. Or worse, teaching undergrads how to write.” 

“I was typing a memo,” Margaret says, apparently to nobody, “And my sister rang. Margaret, she said, you’ll never guess who I just saw buying a pregnancy test at the drugstore next to Pete’s Deli. Joshua Lyman!” 

“You bought it in public!” CJ is advancing on Josh and he cowers behind me. “You bought it where people could see you? Actual people?! Now I can’t even try to deny this!” 

Toby speaks up. “Well, you might also have some problems denying it when Donna gives birth to a healthy 9-pound boy, CJ!” 

“Girl,” Josh and I automatically correct. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sam asks. “I tell you everything Josh. Well, except for the things Donna tells me, but I even tell you some of them.” 

“Hey!” I glare at Sam. “I don’t tell Josh any of the things you tell me.” 

“Yes you do,” Josh says. 

“You’ll have to find another job, Ginger,” Toby says. “I won’t be able to afford you.” 

“I don’t want another job,” Ginger pouts. 

“Will you still be able to afford me, Sam?” Kathy asks worriedly. 

“Yes,” Sam relies absently. “If I go back to practising corporate law I can afford to hire you and Ginger. And probably Carol, as well.” 

“But I like working for CJ,” Carol interjects. 

“You won’t like working in the film industry Carole,” CJ tells her assistant. “And that’s where we’re going, all because Josh Lyman couldn’t keep it in his pants.” 

“Hang on,” Josh says, “That’s unfair.” 

“I’m not pregnant,” I interject. 

“You didn’t even tell me you and Donna got together,” Sam adds. 

“We haven’t,” Josh replies. 

“Five years. Five years until the end of the administration,” CJ says, still advancing on us. “You couldn’t stay away from each other for five years and now Mary Marsh and Ann Stark will gloat.” 

"And I'll have to teach undergrads, who have no idea how to correctly employ a semi-colon." 

And then they realize. 

“You’re not pregnant?” Bonnie asks. 

“No,” I affirm. “I’m not. And Josh and I are not together.” 

CJ is still glaring. “There was that thing this morning, and now this...” 

“But Jane said...” 

Josh looks at Margaret. “Jane was wearing a purple dress in the drugstore, and arrived at the counter just as I was leaving?” 

Margaret nods. “She said you bought a pregnancy test. Jane wouldn’t lie about something like that.” 

I look at Josh helplessly. We can hardly tell them it was for Zoey. 

“Ah...” Josh begins, “Well, Donna and I were talking about...about..." 

"A friend of mine, who's having a baby," I quickly supply. 

"Right," Josh hurriedly agrees. "And then we were talking about pregnancy tests. I thought when you were pregnant the thing turned pink, and Donna said it turned blue. I went and bought one to find out.” 

Everyone is staring at us in disbelief. 

“You’d tell me right?” Sam appeals to Josh. “If you and Donna did...” 

“They’re not going to,” CJ interrupts. “I will chain Josh to his desk. I will make him a soprano in the choir. I will break federal laws, I will take matters into my own hands and damn the consequences before I let that happen.” 

Toby nods. "I'll help." 

“I didn’t think you were pregnant anyway,” Sam confides, more to himself than us, I think. 

“Didn’t think who was pregnant?” 

Enter Leo. 

******** 

“Donna and Josh,” Sam says, in that perfectly innocent voice of his. One of these days, Sam is going to meet an ugly, ugly end. And I plan to be there to watch. 

“You two are pregnant?!” 

Leo bellowing is another way to stop a room. 

“No, we’re not,” I hurriedly correct. 

“You’re not?!” he bellows again. 

“No. That’s good, right?” I ask tentatively. 

Leo rounds on his assistant. “I’m sure you’re involved in this somehow.” 

Margaret doesn’t try to mount a defence. She know _that_ expression of Leo's. “I was typing that IRS memo, when Jane rang me. And Leo, my sister seems to have the impression that you don’t like her,” she tells her boss conversationally. “I can't imagine why she thinks that. She's only met you four times, and..." 

"Margaret!" 

"Anyway," the redhead hurries on, "Jane was in the drugstore next to Pete’s Deli, and she walked up to the counter and saw Josh buying a pregnancy test. And well...we assumed that Donna...” 

“And why would you assume that?” Leo asks in his deadliest voice. 

“Uh...” Ginger begins. “Of all the people Josh could be buying a test for, we thought that Donna...I mean...we had no evidence that...” 

“We don’t think they’re going out,” Kathy puts in. 

Leo raises an eyebrow. “You don’t think they’re going out, but you thought Josh might have got Donna pregnant?” 

“Yes,” Carol confirms. “We weren’t certain they were dating, but we weren’t prepared to rule out the possibility.” 

CJ beams at her assistant. 

“Thank you for the official White House position,” Leo says sarcastically. 

“Actually,” CJ interjects, “The official White House position on staffers’ personal relationships is not to comment on them.” 

Donna steps up. The rest of us have struck out. Why not her? “They thought I might be...pregnant, because Josh and I were discussing baby names the other day. A friend of mine is having a baby, and they want to call it Hilda if it’s a girl, and we were talking about it.” 

“No you weren’t,” Sam disputes. He realizes what he’s said and starts back-pedalling. “You didn’t discuss it because you argued about it. That’s what you and Josh do - you argue. Sometimes you discuss, but mostly you argue. Like the time that Josh said that...” 

“Sam,” Toby thankfully interrupts, “We get it.” 

“Well, I certainly don’t,” Leo says, looking directly at me. “Josh, my office. Now!” 

Who the hell needs enemies when I’ve got my colleagues and their assistants? 

**** 

When it comes to a dressing-down with Leo, I go in to our meetings carrying my own rope. And when the time comes to be hanged, I hold it up and say, ‘Don’t worry Leo...I’ll do it for you’. 

So, whilst I follow Leo into his office, I try hard to psych myself up. I am da man...I can be the ball...I am the ball...it’s all in my mind...I hate sports metaphors. 

“Close the door,” Leo orders me. “And tell me what the hell's going on?” 

“Nothing,” I repeat, for the four-thousandth time today. 

Leo leans against his desk and crosses his arms, displaying his disbelief. “Josh, my Senior Staff and their assistants were just discussing the fact that you and Donna aren’t pregnant. That’s not nothing.” 

“It was a misunderstanding that got blown out of proportion. If Donna was pregnant, don’t you think everyone would have noticed?” 

“Probably,” Leo admits. “So why were you buying a pregnancy test? And don’t deny it.” 

The best defence is a carefully selected and presented version of the truth. “The test was bought on behalf of somebody else. However, I have that person’s confidence and I can’t tell you anything more. That’s the truth.” 

Leo holds my gaze and finally nods. “Okay. I believe you.” 

“Thank God, because...” 

“I’m not finished,” Leo interrupts. “This can’t keep happening, Josh.” 

“People think I've knocked Donna up? Because today was the first day anybody's ever..." I trail off when I see Leo's face. "What can’t keep happening?” 

“You and Donna. If it’s not condoms, it’s people thinking she’s pregnant. It’s not just today, either.” 

“Look, Leo...” I begin. 

“I don’t have to tell you that any hint of misconduct between you and Donna is a disaster for this administration. The Republicans would climb all over us, the press would make Donna’s life hell, and your career would be over. Unfortunately, it’s inevitable, Josh. It has been since the second she started working for you. 

“I could order you not to do anything with Donna, and you’d try your hardest. Both of you would. But it’d be counter-productive, and more importantly, it wouldn’t stop you thinking it, or wanting it.” 

I have to say something. “Leo, Donna and I aren’t...” 

“I know. But you can’t tell me there isn’t something between you. I’m an old man Josh, but I remember what it was like. I have to warn you that you and Donna can’t work together if you pursue a romantic relationship.” 

I nod. “But even if one of us did leave, people would simply say we worked together once. There’d be questions about how Donna got her job. Not,” I hurriedly continue, “That we’re ever going to pursue any relationship other than our current professional relationship and our friendship.” 

“Of course not,” Leo facetiously agrees. “If I get even a hint that there’s something going on whilst she still works for you, you know what I’ll do, Josh.” 

“You’ll fire me,” I say evenly, “And give Donna my job.” 

Leo tilts his head. “Not a half-bad idea.” 

“Leo!” 

“I’ll ask for your resignation. If Donna leaves, or moves departments, and you decide to pursue a personal relationship after an appropriate lapse of time, I’ll support you completely.” 

“Thank you,” I say softly. “Of course, this is all based on the assumption that there’s even a desire to pursue...” Leo eyeballs me. “Thanks.” 

“I’m deadly serious, Josh.” 

“I know you are.” Leo would do anything to protect the President. He’d also do anything to protect his staff, which is probably why he looks so torn. 

Leo walks over to me, his face softening. “Noah would have liked Donna.” 

I nod. “He would have loved her. When my mother rings, she spends more time talking to Donna than to me.” 

“Donna sometimes reminds me of Marah.” 

“Only sometimes?” 

Leo smiles. “Alright, a lot of the time.” He seems to hesitate. “Because Noah isn’t here, I feel I should...just don’t throw this away. For any reason, Josh. Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

When I was a child, Leo was a gruff, loveable uncle with hundreds of unbelievable stories. He knew things about my parents they didn’t want me knowing. He understood my guilt about Joanie without either of us ever having to say a word. 

He listened to my first idealistic and laughable political ideas seriously, and never dismissed them. Leo taught me everything I know, and the only reason I’m any good at what I do is because I watched him for years. 

These days, I often irritate him, and he fights with me. But more than that, he fights for me. He still listens to me; when I’m being a pain in the ass he calls me on it, and refuses to let me get away with it. 

And it occurs to me that he fights me because he expects more of me than I’m sometimes willing to give, and because he never, ever lets me take the easy road out. 

“I have to ask,” I say, “Because I read the signs wrong last time, and...” 

Without another word, Leo is hugging me. 

******** 

Everyone is staring at me. Josh just followed Leo like a man walking towards his death, and everyone is staring at me. I can’t stand all those eyes. 

“I’ve got some work to do,” I say, heading back towards our bullpen. 

I haven’t taken more than five steps when Sam appears at my elbow. 

“You’d tell me, wouldn’t you?” he pleads. 

I shake my head in amusement. “Of course I would Sam.” 

“Good.” We reach my desk, but Sam pulls me into Josh’s office. 

“I’ve got work to do,” I repeat. 

He closes the door behind me and cuts off further protest by putting a hand over my mouth. “Have you thought any more about what I said at lunch time?” 

I gesture to the hand and Sam removes it. “Which part of what you said?” 

“The part where I complained that Josh didn’t bring me any lunch.” 

“Sam, thinking about things is not the answer. It’s never going to happen.” 

“With an attitude like that of course it’s never going to...” 

“This isn’t a sports game,” I interrupt. “Josh loves his job. I love my job. We work for the President of the United States. We’re Democrats. The Republicans would do anything to get the upper hand, particularly when re-election is just around the corner. A sex scandal would be too good for them to pass up and I didn’t make plans to be one half of a sex scandal this year. It’s never going to happen.” 

“What about going to college?” Sam asks reasonably. “What if...” 

“I like the White House,” I interrupt again. “And even if I did leave my job, there’d still be questions asked about how I got it in the first place. You know this.” 

“Yes, but it’s wrong! It’s wrong that just because you and Josh are good at your jobs, and you work for the President, and Josh is your boss, you can’t proclaim your undying love for each other and live happily ever after.” 

I roll my eyes. “Neither of us are the kind of people to make proclamations of undying love, and I’m certain Josh doesn’t feel that way about me anyway.” 

Sam raises his eyebrows. “I’m here to tell you that...” 

“Don’t. I don’t want to hear it, and I don’t want to discuss it. I wish I didn’t have these feelings. The fastest way to get rid of them is to pretend they don’t exist.” 

“Yes, because denial is a proven method of solving one’s problems.” 

“This isn’t a problem, but it will become one if I don’t get things under control. And you egging me on all the time...” 

“I don’t egg!” Sam protests. “I just want you and Josh to be happy.” 

“It’s sweet, Sam, but really...I have work to do.” 

Sam holds my gaze, before he hugs me. Sam gives great hugs. Those full-bodied, tight-armed, it’s-better-because-I’m-here hugs. And he smells like linen and sunshine. Hugging Sam is easy and comfortable. 

“For God’s sake,” says Josh from the doorway. “Every time I go looking for you Donna, you’re with Sam.” 

“It’s not true,” I immediately say, pulling away slightly from Sam. 

“It’s not true that every time I go looking for you, you’re with Sam?” 

“That’s true,” I admit. “But what you’re thinking isn’t true.” 

“How do you know what I’m thinking?” Josh demands. 

“What is he thinking?” Sam asks curiously. 

I roll my eyes at Sam. “What do you think?” 

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you,” Sam responds. 

I sigh. “He thinks there’s something going on between you and I.” 

“That’s ridiculous,” Sam says to Josh. “That’s unfounded, and ridiculous. And you know what else? It’s ridiculous. Donna and I are just friends.” 

“I know,” Josh says tiredly. “I was actually thinking that you two spend so much time together you‘re probably plotting to overthrow the government.” 

“We could, you know,” Sam replies, his expression appraising. “It wouldn’t be _that_ difficult, seeing how Margaret can forge the President’s signature.” 

Josh steps into his office. “Could you two plan the revolution in Sam’s office? I’ve got twenty more amendments to get through.” 

“I’ve got to work on that speech for the Forestry group,” Sam says, pulling away from me. He leaves with a sad look on his face. 

Josh sits down at his desk, and looks pointedly at my stomach. First my nose, now my stomach? “How’s the morning sickness?” 

I laugh. “I get it at night, so I’m not due to re-visit lunch for two hours.” 

“Charming,” Josh replies, making a face. “And it’s a girl, by the way.” 

“I know,” I agree, still just joking along. This is what we do: we banter. “A girl with thirty-four freckles on her nose.” 

He leans back in his chair. “She reels off facts like the Britannica Encyclopaedia, she learnt to read when she was three, and she takes ballet,” he adds. 

“And also karate, so she can kick major ass.” 

Josh nods. “And she’s going to do law at Harvard, go into politics, where she’ll have a spectacular career as a Senator, and at the age of 39, will simultaneously become the youngest and the first female President ever.” 

He’s right. Not that I’m biased. “Of course. And her name is...” I think for a moment, “Olivia.” 

“Olivia,” he repeats. “I like it. Nobody would mess with an Olivia.” 

“And her middle is Elizabeth.” 

“Elizabeth’s so common.” 

I frown. “Well, Eleanor was already taken by the President and Mrs. Bartlet.” I rack my brains. “I’ve got it. Emmeline.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “Emmeline?” 

“As in Emmeline...” 

“Pankhurst,” he interrupts impatiently. “I know who Emmeline Pankhurst was. I’m just thinking it might not be the best omen for Olivia.” 

“Yes, because, being named after a feminist would be so terrible, Josh.” 

“No, but the whole throwing herself under a carriage thing is worrying.” 

He has a point. “What about Jacoba?” 

Josh’s eyes go wide in horror. “That’s as bad as Brunhilde. No.” 

“You just made that name up. Do you even know who Jacoba was?” 

“Brunhilde is from a Wagner opera. And Jacoba was a doctor in 12th century Paris. Do you think that being a man precludes me from knowing the important figures of history? Even if they’re women? Because that sounds a little sexist.” 

“You hate opera, Josh. And I’m a woman who lives in a patriarchal society. I can’t possibly be sexist.” 

“I dated a girl who forced me to watch the Ring Cycle. And neither Emmeline or Jacoba were American.” Then he gives me smirk #3: I’ve got it! “Abigail.” 

“It’s perfect.” 

His smirk grows wider. “She should have two middle names. Olivia Abigail Claudia. It’d keep CJ off our back for years.” 

“Josh! Our daughter is Olivia Abigail Claudia because she’s been named after kick-ass women and CJ is one.” He’s looking at me strangely. “What?” 

“Our daughter,” Josh repeats softly. 

And it’s no longer bantering anymore. “I have work to do. And so do you.” 

“Yeah.” 

Olivia Abigail Claudia has Josh’s dimples, his humour, and his kindness. I find myself wishing that life really were a fairy-tale and happy endings existed. 

That way, I’d get to meet our daughter. 


	5. Better Than Perfect 5

**Better Than Perfect**

**by:** Ygrawn

**Character(s):** Josh and Donna, with some ensemble  
**Pairing(s):** J/D  
**Category(s):** Romance, Humor  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Disclaimer:** I don’t own Josh and Donna et al. There are references to real people herewith, and I don’t own them either.   
**Summary:** It's Josh and Donna's Assistant Anniversary. Josh has plans. As usual, they don't work.  
**Author's Note:** I’m Australian, and this was begun before Bartlet’s 3rd SotU. This swaps between Josh and Donna’s POV, and starts with Josh’s. And for reasons that will soon become obvious, 17 People and the disputed anniversary didn't happen. 

* * *

I have five amendments left when the adjoining door opens and CJ steps into my office, carrying a suit-pack, and looking confused. “Celia just dropped this off at my office, and said you’d know what it’s about. So, Josh, what is this about?” 

I frown in concentration. “Oh.” I lower my voice. “It’s Donna’s dress.” 

CJ blinks. “Donna’s dress was just dropped off at my office?” 

“Yes. So she has something to wear to the symphony.” 

“And she couldn’t go home and - I’m just going to throw this out here - get dressed herself?” 

“There wouldn’t have been time. There will be now, because Leo organized a snap health inspection, but three days ago, when I rang Donna’s roommate Celia, there wouldn’t have been time.” 

“What?” 

“Just give me the dress,” I say, walking around my desk to take it from her. 

CJ holds it back. “You know that if you got her pregnant I’d kill you.” 

“Yes, but then Donna would be a single mother.” 

“I’d still kill you.” She hands over the dress. “I’d do it with a spoon.” 

I raise an eyebrow. “A spoon? Isn’t that a little...ineffective?” 

“It’s dull you twit, it’ll hurt more.” 

“Twit?” 

She rolls her eyes. “It’s a quote from Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. The...” CJ trails off. “Never mind.” 

“You’re quoting a movie where Robin Hood had an American accent?” 

“I take it back. A spoon’s too good for you.” 

I hang Donna’s dress up on my window casing. “I can just hear you now. ‘My weapon of choice was a spoon, Detective, but I was reduced to using a screwdriver in his ear’.” 

CJ grins evilly. “Screwdriver in the ear, huh? Not as good as cutting you up into small pieces with a sharp knife and roasting them over an open spit, but it has merit.” 

“You’re scaring me. Begone, or someone will drop a house on you too.” 

“I’ll get you my pretty,” CJ returns, cackling rather convincingly. 

“And his little dog, too?” Toby asks with amusement, from my doorway. “The little dog being Sam,” he qualifies. 

“Hey!” I glare at Toby. 

CJ grins. “No, I’ll leave Sam’s demise to you, Tobias.” 

“How many times do I have to explain that’s not my actual name?” 

“The same number of times you have to apologize for the incident in Topeka.” 

“It was dark. I was tired. It was an innocent mistake.” 

“Innocent, my ass,” CJ retorts. “You were nowhere near my ribs.” 

Toby sighs, as if this is an argument they’ve had before. They lost me after Topeka. And I'm kind of happy they did. “Again, it was dark.” 

“You got it wrong three times!” 

“Guys,” I interrupt tiredly, “Could you go and flirt somewhere else?” I stop dead. “Argue,” I clarify in a squeaky voice. “Not flirt. You weren’t flirting. You never flirt. You're too professional to flirt. You argue. Could you go and _argue_ somewhere else?” 

But they’re not looking at me; they’re looking at each other. CJ tilts her head. “Shall we?” Toby follows CJ into her office. If they’re in there longer than half-an-hour, I’ll have to go in after them. 

Thirty minutes is enough time to do something twice. If you’re driven and dedicated. And I should know. 

Right now though, I get to surprise Donna with one of the things that’s gone right today. “Donnatella!” I yell. 

She appears in my doorway. “Don’t yell.” 

“Would you please look in the front compartment of my backpack?” 

“Do it yourself. “ 

“Donna - ” 

“If I don’t bring you coffee, I can’t imagine why you would think I’d - ” 

“Donna, just do it!” 

She recognizes the tone of voice, so she picks up my backpack, unzips the front compartment, and glares at me. “What am I looking for?” 

“Left-hand pocket.” 

Frowning now, she pulls out the symphony tickets. And her face lights up. “Oh, I forgot all about those.” 

She what? “You _what_?” 

She looks stricken. “Uh...I saw them when I was looking for Terry McAuliffe’s number. By accident. But I forgot all about it, with Dr. Freeride, and Zoey...” 

“You knew?” 

Her eyes soften. “Yes, but that doesn’t take anything away from it, Josh. Thank you - it’s a lovely present.” Then she looks at her watch. “But if we’re going to opening night, I’ll have to go home...” I hold the suit pack up. “What’s that?” 

“Open it.” 

She crosses to stand in front of me and unzips it. “It’s a blue - it’s my dress. And my shoes!” Donna stares at me. “Why do you have my dress and my shoes, and a pair of pantyhose and...Josh you have an entire outfit here!” 

“Yes.” 

Her eyes narrow. “Should I be asking questions about what you do when you aren’t in the office?” 

“No! I - no! Celia dropped it off.” 

Donna’s forehead crinkles beguilingly. “My roommate Celia?” 

“I called her a few days ago, and explained I was taking you to the symphony, and there wasn’t enough time for you to go home and change. After you left for work this morning, she got this stuff together, and dropped it off here.” 

Donna’s giving me _that_ look. The one where she’s about to go all girly. That soft, melted, girly look. She hangs the suit-pack up. “You’re about to get emotional aren’t you?” I ask. “Donna, you know how much I hate it when - ” 

“Shut up, Josh,” she murmurs, and then she hugs me. Her arms wind around my upper back and she tucks her face into my neck. Not caring how wrong this is, I wrap my arms around her waist, bury my nose in her hair, and close my eyes. I'll go home tonight, and I'll lie in bed staring at the ceiling, and wonder, when I'm doing everything I ever wanted to do with my life, why there's a hollow spot somewhere inside of me. I'll remember this moment, and I won't quite so empty. 

“Thank you Josh,” Donna says. Her body is pliant and wondrous. 

“After the condoms, and the health inspection, I had to get something right today,” I say ruefully. I’m can’t resist the temptation - I gently touch her hair. 

Donna pulls back slightly, wearing a quizzical expression. “Health inspection?” 

Shit. “I said that aloud, didn’t I?” 

“What health inspection?” 

I mentally kick myself. Hard. “I was going to take you to dinner.” 

“At St. Jude’s. The woman called about the reservation, and...” she trails off and connects the dots. “The Health Board closed St. Jude’s down?” 

“Leo asked them to make a snap inspection. They did it this morning, and closed them down for a fortnight.” I wrap a strand of her hair around my forefinger. 

“Leo closed down St. Jude’s?” 

“He took Mal there the other week and apparently it wasn’t up to his standards. I’m sorry.” 

She shakes her head. “It’s okay, Josh. We can eat dinner at one of the restaurants near the Kennedy Centre. There are some nice places there.” 

“But you really wanted to go to St. Jude’s. You’ve been telling me for weeks, about the food, and the dancing...” 

“Would you have danced with me?” 

I eyeball her. “You know how much I hate dancing.” 

“I would have made you,” Donna says, grinning. 

“I know,” I admit. “I just...I’m really sorry.” 

“Stop apologizing,” she orders. “I just can’t believe you did all this.” 

“Well, I have a standing to maintain as the Best Boss in the Building.” 

Donna rolls her eyes. “You aren’t the Best Boss in the Building.” 

I let go of her. “The symphony starts at eight-thirty, so we should leave at about seven.” 

“I’ll need about thirty minutes to get ready.” Donna collects the suit-pack and stands in the doorway. “I’ll have to clear that with my boss.” 

“I’m sure it’ll be okay.” 

I watch her as she turns and walks out of my office with a smile on her face. 

******** 

He organized clothes for me. 

Joshua Huen Lyman, who couldn’t organize a fish to be wet without me, managed to organize clothes, dinner, and the symphony, without me finding out. 

So, the dinner isn’t going to happen. It’s not his fault. I can’t find a single way to blame him, and I can usually find a way to blame everything on Josh. 

But just then, when he looked so disappointed about not being able to take me to St. Jude’s, I felt like telling him that if he took me to a soup kitchen for stale bread I wouldn’t care, as long as he was there with me. 

The man organized clothes for me. If I was head-over-heels before, I’m flat on my ass, outright, foolishly, insanely, past-the-point-of-no-return nuts about him now. 

I have to take some memos to Kathy and collect a report from Ginger, and when I arrive at the Communications Bullpen, Margaret is talking to Ginger; Bonnie is on the phone and Kathy is filing. I think I’m grinning like an idiot. 

“Hey Donna,” Margaret greets me. 

“That’s the grin of an idiot,” Kathy says. 

Margaret nods. “Josh must have told her.” 

I frown. “You guys knew?” 

“He could hardly pull something like that off by himself,” Ginger says. 

I’m still confused. “You guys helped him?” 

“Leo asked me to type the submission, and I could hardly keep something like that to myself,” Margaret says. “And it’s not a little raise either - I saw the figures.” 

I freeze. “What?” 

Margaret shrugs. “I wasn’t snooping - Leo did ask me to type the submission, and I could hardly ignore it whilst it was being dictated to me, could I?” 

“What raise?” 

Margaret realizes I’m clueless. “Josh didn’t tell you?” 

“Tell me what?” 

“I...ah...” Margaret looks to Kathy and Ginger for assistance. They stare mutely back. “I thought he...you were looking so happy, and I...” 

“I’m getting a raise?” 

Ginger sighs. “Josh asked Leo, and Leo made the submission to the Budget Committee who obviously haven’t passed it yet, because Josh hasn’t told you.” 

I’m still stuck on the raise. “I’m getting a raise?” 

“Budget meets on Fridays. I guess he was going to wait till then,” Kathy says. 

“Josh is getting me a raise? On Friday?” 

“He wanted to give it to you today, for your Assistant Anniversary. We thought you knew.” Ginger is genuinely apologetic. 

I blankly hold the memos out in Kathy’s direction. “He organized clothes for me, and he wants to give me a raise.” 

Kathy grabs the memos. “He organized clothes for you?” 

“He’s taking me to the symphony,” I tell her. “And we were supposed to go to dinner, and I wouldn’t have had time, so he asked my roommate to drop off a dress.” 

“ _Josh_ organized it?” Margaret looks at me with disbelief. 

“Yes,” I tell her proudly. “I didn’t have a clue.” 

“You were supposed to go to dinner?” 

I stare at Ginger. “Huh?” 

“You were supposed to go to dinner?” she repeats. “You aren’t now?” 

“Josh was going to take me to St. Jude’s, but Leo closed it down, because he went there with Mallory, and apparently, it wasn’t up to his standards.” 

“Where are you having dinner now?” 

“Not sure,” I tell Ginger. 

Bonnie hangs up the phone, jumping straight into the conversation. “Did he pick a good outfit? Toby wouldn’t have a clue where to start.” 

“I think Celia chose it.” 

“It’s official,” Carol says, as she enters the bullpen. “Donna is still the girl with the Best Boss in the building.” 

“How do you know about it?” Kathy demands. 

Because our offices are so close, Carol and I can often be found trading office supplies or attempting to reconcile our bosses. “CJ just told me about the symphony, the dinner, and the clothes. And I knew about the raise,” Carol answers. 

“Donna didn’t,” Bonnie tells Carol. “We spoiled Josh’s surprise.” 

Carol looks stricken. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s too late now,” I say, “The others told me five minutes ago.” 

“Good, Josh can’t blame me. I’ll mind your phones while you change.” 

“Thanks, Carol.” 

“I think I’ll ask Toby for condoms next anniversary - at least they’re useful.” 

“Bonnie!” Margaret exclaims. 

“You’re the one who went and got the spares,” Kathy points out. 

“Donna! You told her!” 

“I did not,” I defend myself. 

“I saw you,” Carol says. “You’ve got your fifth date with that guy from Phillips Fox on Saturday, don’t you?” 

“Aaron Lawrie,” Ginger provides. “Sam says he’ll make partner in a year.” 

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready?” Margaret asks me, with classic misdirection. “It’s quarter past six.” 

“I’ve got your phones,” Carol calls, as I hurry towards my desk. 

******** 

It’s six-forty when I finally finish with the amendments, and I don’t want to see a word about third line forcing or merchantable quality for at least the rest of my life. When I emerge from my office, the bullpen is mostly empty, and Carol is at Donna’s desk, on the phone. “He’ll get back to you as soon as he’s available.” She hangs up and drops the message in the bin. Then she sees me. “Hey Josh.” 

I point to the bin. “Who was it?” 

She shrugs. “Some flunky from the FDA. When you don’t call back, they’ll realize you only talk to the people in charge. Donna taught me that.” 

I grin. “Speaking of which, whilst this assistant-swapping is a novel idea, where is Donna?” 

“Getting ready. You should get changed too,” Carol adds. 

I frown at her in confusion. “I’m not getting changed.” Carol gestures to the coat-rack, where one of my suits is hung in drycleaner’s plastic. “Donna’s making me get changed?” 

“If she’s dressing up, you can’t go out looking mussed.” 

“Mussed?” 

“Her words, not mine.” Carol surveys me. “Although, you look rather mussed, Josh.” 

“I do not!” 

CJ appears from around the corner. “Carol, where are tomorrow’s briefings?” 

“Where I usually put them, CJ.” 

“They’re not there.” 

Carol exhales exasperatedly. “I’ll go and put them in their usual place then, shall I?” 

CJ pins me with a look after Carol disappears. “You knew exactly where those briefings were,” I realize. “What do you want, CJ?” 

She walks over to the coat rack and collects my suit. “You should get changed.” 

"Okay." I walk into my office, and she follows. 

I stare at her. “I’m going to change now. That involves taking clothes off.” 

“Oh, right.” She turns around and faces the door. 

I don’t feel even slightly weird about changing with CJ in the room. Time is a precious commodity on a campaign, and if CJ had to brief me on something she’d stand outside the bathroom door or turn her back while I changed, rather than wait. It’s the same with the others. Beds were communal, bathrooms belonged to everybody, suitcases, clothes, and books were all interchanged. By the end of the campaign, half of Donna's clothes were in my suitcase, and I'd snuggled with Sam more mornings than I like to think about. 

I realize CJ is talking. “Toby didn’t know Andie was coming today.” 

I change pants, draping the old ones over my chair. “He told you that?” 

“It was his way of apologizing.” 

She has a tone of voice that makes me ask, “What are you thinking, CJ?” I pull on a fresh shirt, and do the buttons up. Did you know that you button faster if you go from the bottom to the top? Guess which blonde know-it-all told me that? 

The dying sunlight catches CJ's hair and turns it a brilliant gold. “What?” 

“Done,” I say, and she turns around. “I can tell you’re thinking something.” 

I hook my tie under my collar, and begin to tie it, but CJ walks around my desk, and grabs it. “I’m not thinking anything.” 

“Yes you are.” 

She’s concentrating on my tie. “I thought we could go out for a drink.” 

I raise an eyebrow. “You and I?” 

“Josh!” 

I sigh. “CJ, if you invite Toby for a drink this evening, please invite Sam.” 

“But...” 

“It’s a bad idea,” I interrupt her. “It’s a...” 

“I know!” she exclaims, jerking the knot up tightly. She glares at me before loosening it. 

“I know you know. I just wanted to be the one to say it, instead of you telling me all the time.” 

“You’re such a jackass,” CJ mutters, smoothing my tie down. “There.” 

“Thanks. You and Toby have been there before. You go out tonight, have a few drinks, and suddenly it’s so much easier to give into it.” 

“I don’t know why I talked to you about this.” 

“You couldn’t talk to Sam, and Donna would have said the same thing.” 

CJ sighs. She might hate it, but she agrees with me. “Okay, I’ll invite Sam.” 

“Thank you.” I grin. “It’s been my experience that Sam is the world’s best chaperone. He doesn’t know he’s doing it, but he does it very well.” 

“I knew I shouldn’t have talked to you about this.” CJ straightens my tie again. “You be good with Donna this evening, or I’ll sic Sam onto you. ” 

“Wouldn’t work. He’s rooting for Donna and I.” 

“Oh, that’s all we need. Eager Sam.” 

“Eager Sam’s cute,” I defend. “He’s better than Outraged and Idealistic Sam.” 

CJ groans. “Don’t.” 

Someone knocks on the door. I walk around and open it. “The briefings were exactly where I left them,” Carol tells CJ. Then she reaches out and tweaks my tie. 

“Women,” I mutter under my breath. 

CJ shrugs. “I should go and find Tweedledum and Tweedledumber.” 

“Who’s Tweedledumber?” Toby asks with amusement, appearing with Sam. They’re both wearing their coats and carrying their briefcases. 

“It varies from hour to hour,” CJ answers. “Where are you two going?” 

“Out for a drink,” Sam replies. “We were wondering if you wanted to come.” He holds up her coat and purse. 

“You didn’t know whether I’d come, but you took the liberty of collecting my coat and purse?” she asks. 

Toby shrugs. “Are you coming or not?” 

“Why not?” CJ turns and Sam helps her into her coat. Then, he takes two steps towards me, and smoothes down my tie. 

“Thank you,” I say dryly. 

“Hey,” Donna says, appearing from the hallway. 

I twist my head around Sam to look at her. And look at her. And look at her some more. “Wow,” I muster. 

“760 verbal, Joshua, and all you can manage is ‘wow’?” Donna asks. 

“You look lovely,” Sam tells her. 

“Thanks.” Donna walks over and adjusts my tie. “We should get going.” 

I look at my watch. “I’ll get my things together.” 

She starts to tell CJ and Carol something when I step into my office, and I look at her again. She really does look ‘wow’. She’s wearing a strapless navy blue dress with a long skirt that follows the line of her body. She's done something with her hair - it's piled on top of her head, with little wisps falling around her face. Her left leg peeks out of a high slit, the sheer length of it incredible. With her alabaster skin, shadows falling across her shoulders, and the enticing curve of her neck, she looks magnificent. 

She turns and sees me watching her, but I don’t pretend I wasn’t looking. 

Then I collect my coat, and help Donna into hers. My father tried to teach me those things: helping women with their coats, opening doors, walking on the outside of them, letting them order first at restaurants. 

But I know that if I ever let Donna or CJ order before me, solely on account of them being female, they’d kick my ass and order first anyway. 

“Shall we?” I ask, gesturing towards the hallway. My palms are sweaty again, and I remind myself that this is a strictly professional outing. My assistant and I are going out for dinner to celebrate our professional relationship. Yeah, I know. I couldn't convince a two-year-old with that crap. 

“Have a good time,” Sam says. “Where are you going for dinner?” 

I turn to Donna. “What about the Roof Top Terrace?” 

“It’d be booked out,” CJ disputes. 

“I’m the Deputy Chief of Staff, CJ. I could get us a table,” I reply loftily. 

“I was going to suggest Fitzgerald’s,” Donna says quietly. 

I grin at her, surprised. “Really?” 

“Yes - the food is nice, and I know you like it there.” 

“We can go the Roof Top Terrace,” I offer again. “I don’t mind.” 

“Fitzgerald’s is fine,” Donna decides. 

“Have a good time,” Sam says. 

“Good night,” Toby says, with typical economy. 

“Sam,” I suddenly say, “Walk with me. We need to talk about Mike Fraser.” 

Sam looks at CJ and Toby. “I’ll meet you at the west exit in five.” We walk down the hall. “Mike Fraser?” he asks, as soon as we’re out of earshot. 

I shrug. “It had to sound convincing.” 

Donna’s keeping up with us, even in those shoes. Do women get special lessons on how to walk in those things? Because I couldn’t take two steps without falling on my ass. “Who’s Mike Fraser?” she asks. 

“One of my tutors at Princeton - Josh and I met through him.” 

“Toby invited you for a drink, right?” I ask Sam as we round the corner. 

“Yes,” Sam replies, confused. 

“He and CJ know they shouldn’t be alone tonight, so you’re the chaperone.” 

“Why shouldn’t they - chaperone? I am not a chaperone! Chaperones are matrons who wear those...” he gestures to his head, “Lace things.” 

“Mantillas,” Donna provides. “And yes, you are, Sam.” 

We’re almost at the exit. “Anyway, stay with them, but make some excuse and leave before they do, okay?” 

Sam stops up short. “But if they shouldn’t - you want me to let them...” 

I shake my head. “They deserve...” I trail off, unable to express myself. I don’t know why I’m doing this - some fit of empathy, I guess, although it’s unlike me and I feel uncomfortable. 

“I know,” Sam says understandingly, already turning back down the hall. “Have a really great time.” 

Donna hooks her arm through mine. “That was a nice thing you just did.” 

I shrug as we exit the building. “You know, Fitzgerald’s gets pretty crowded.” 

“It doesn’t matter. And I meant it Josh,” Donna continues, “That was a really nice thing you just did.” 

What can you say to that? “We’ll take my car - I’ll drop you back here after the symphony.” 

“That’s fine.” 

We reach my car. Donna rubs my wrist. “What?” I ask. 

“Just...nothing.” But she’s wearing her Mona Lisa smile. 

******** 

Fitzgerald’s is in an alley off F Street. It’s a bar, but serves four-star food, and is always packed with politicians: congressional aides, Senator’s staffers, government employees, lobbyists, consultants, and a few select journalists. 

There’s a montage of photographs over the east wall and amazingly, it’s partisan. There’s a huge photo of JFK. 

There’s a picture of Nixon’s victory pose, although somebody has taken the much-applauded liberty of adding horns and a tail to Tricky Dickie. 

The role call goes on, and some of the pictures are great. 

Right near the bar is a picture of President Bartlet, giving his Inauguration speech. The First Lady and Leo are sitting behind him, their little fingers linked, as they listen to Toby and Sam’s beautiful words. 

Below it is a picture of CJ, Toby, Sam, and Josh, taken at the formal ball. CJ is beaming, her arms around Josh, who is gripping hands with Sam and Toby. They look exhausted but victorious, and I can never pass that photo without a shiver running up my spine. Neither can Josh. 

When we walk through the door, every second person in the place tries to catch Josh’s eye. “We could have a drink at the bar,” I suggest. 

He shakes his head and guides me to a table. “It’s okay. The Senator’s aides will bitch, the lobbyists will try to put a bug in my ear, and the journalists will want me to go on the record with things they know I’ll never go on the record with.” 

“It’s what you live for.” 

“Sometimes, I live for other things,” Josh replies cryptically. 

Our waiter arrives and asks for our drinks order. “A glass of the house white,” Josh says, giving me a pointed look that just dares me to challenge him. 

“A whiskey sour,” I tell our waiter, who hurries off to the bar. Josh just gave up a room full of politicians for me - he can have a glass of wine. 

Dinner is nice. Not just the food, which is always excellent at Fitzgerald's, but all of it. 

Josh and I are always hurrying somewhere, solving a crisis, finishing a report, spinning a story, scrounging up votes, or working out strategies to strong-arm committee members. We love the pace, but sometimes it’s nice to just sit and talk, knowing that we don’t have to finish up in ten minutes because Josh has a meeting. 

During the campaign, Josh and I had time to talk. That’s how we got to know each other - hours on the bus, where the only entertainment was trading life stories. We don’t have that time now, and that’s why dinner is so nice. 

We talk about Margaret’s boyfriend; we discuss the Hudson Hawk report on mandatory minimum’s; he tells me a story about Sam’s old assistant, Fifi. We talk about his mother - I spoke to Marah yesterday, and Josh rang her last night. 

“Marah’s a lovely name,” I comment. 

He nods, taking a sip of his wine. “It’s Hebrew for bitter, which is as far removed from my mother as you can get.” 

“She should be called Naomi instead,” I offer. 

He looks surprised, but pleased. “I thought you were a heathen Protestant.” 

“I am, but I looked your up mother’s name and it quoted that part of Ruth.” 

“I’m going to tell my mother that. Did you know there’s a Book of Joshua?” 

I roll my eyes. “Even heathen Protestants know there’s a Book of Joshua. But the world has conspired against me. How am I supposed to keep your ego in check when there’s a book of the Old Testament in your name?” 

“Maybe the world sees something in me that you don’t,” he teases. 

“I’m with you 24/7, Josh. If I can’t see it, it’s not there.” 

He doesn’t deign to reply, and our meals arrive. We talk about an op-ed piece in today’s Times; we dissect what happened on Capital Beat the other night. Which leads to Ainsley kicking Sam’s ass, because when someone mentions Capital Beat, we have to mention Ainsley kicking Sam’s ass. 

Josh gestures to his plate. “You want some osso bucco?” 

“Sure.” He transfers some to my plate. “You want some matriciana?” 

“No thanks.” Then he says, “I’ve noticed you don’t talk about your family much.” 

I frown, surprised by the non sequitur. “You know about my family.” 

“I know your father was a accountant, and you have two older sisters, but that’s it.” 

I shrug. “My family don’t think about the things beyond their day-to-day existence. To them, the conflict in Jerusalem isn’t important; they don’t debate Nature vs. Art; they aren’t interested in the role of the media or the importance of protecting the First Amendment. 

"And there’s nothing wrong with that. They’re good people, who contribute to society, pay their taxes, and believe in the importance of a strong work ethic, a strong community, and the family unit. They just don’t think into the deeper meaning behind their lives. So, they don’t understand my lifestyle. They don’t understand what it means. When I’m around them, I feel I have to justify my choices. I get upset because I want to make them understand this passion I have for my work, but I can’t. That’s all.” 

“There are other people who get it, though,” Josh points out softly. 

“Yes, there are. And that makes it okay.” 

He smiles. “You have two sisters - Lucy, and Ebony, right?” 

I nod. “Yes. Ebony’s a housewife, and Lucy’s a nurse.” 

“Do they look like you?” It’s an odd question, but he’s genuinely curious. 

“No. I’ve got a photo, if you’d like to see.” I reach for my bag as Josh scoots his chair around. I pull the photos our of my wallet and hand them over to Josh. It's a picture of the three of us - I'm standing in the middle, my arms around Ebony and Lucy. 

I point out Lucy. The photo was taken three Christmases ago, and I have silver tinsel wrapped around my wrists. Let me tell you, tinsel is damn scratchy. 

“You're right," Josh says. "You don’t look like either of them.” 

“They look like my mother, Iris. She had two sisters, Rose and Violet.” 

“Your grandparents obviously liked the floral theme." 

"Yep. Ebony and Lucy have Mom’s brown hair and brown eyes, they’re average height and they’re more...curvaceous than me.” 

Josh grins. “I could say something, but I won’t.” I grin back, knowing what he would say. “Who do you look like?” 

“I have my father’s height and his eyes - his name is George - and my mother’s skin, but no one in the family is blonde.” 

He points to the other photo in my other hand. “Is that the whole family?” 

It’s from the same Christmas. It took my father twenty minutes to work out how to use the timer on his camera, although Lucy’s husband Adam tried to help. I’ve always liked Adam: he debates politics with me; thought I did the right thing in dumping Matt; and gave me a hundred dollars when I set out for Manchester. 

“That’s Ebony’s husband Peter, and that’s Lucy’s husband Adam. Adam’s a high school history teacher, and Peter’s a bank manager. They’re Ebony’s kids - Celeste and Gideon.” 

“Gideon?” 

I shake my head. “I don’t know why. And frankly, I don't _want_ to know why. That’s Lucy and Adam’s son, Vaughn.” 

“That’s a nice name.” Josh’s finger hovers near me. I was sitting next to Adam. “You look...stressed.” 

I shrug. “Between listening to Ebony and Peter argue, and trying to explain to my mother why I left Matt the second time around, it was a fun-filled holiday.” 

“Your mother knows about Dr. Freeride’s complete stupidity?” 

I eyeball him. “Of course. I was living with my parents until I could get my old apartment back. But then I was in the accident, and returned to the campaign.” 

“So...your family knows about me?” This seems strangely important to Josh. 

I nod slowly. “Yes. I talk to them about my work, which leads me to talk about my employer.” 

“What do they think of me?” 

And Josh’s ego makes an overdue appearance. “My parents think you’ve corrupted me, Ebony thinks you should dress better, after the secret plan to fight inflation Peter thinks you’re an idiot, and Adam thinks your tax fraud comment was very funny.” 

“It was.” 

“Josh, it wasn’t funny. It nearly got you fired. I keep telling you...” 

“What about Lucy?” he interrupts. 

Josh has heard my thoughts on his runaway mouth many times. “Lucy likes you. But that’s because she hasn’t met you. The second anyone meets you there’s no possibility of them ever liking you again.” 

“Your consistent mockery of me is something to behold, Donna.” 

“It’s a talent.” 

“That’s one word for it,” he rejoins dryly. 

The waiter arrives to clear the table. “Would you like some dessert?” he asks. 

I look at my watch, then at Josh. “We don’t really have time.” 

Josh agrees and asks for the bill. “We can get coffee and cake afterwards.” 

“That would be nice.” It would be nice, because I don’t want this night to end. I want the talking, and the look in Josh’s eyes, and the way everything is crackling between us, to go on forever. I want to walk around the city until the small hours of the morning, talking in the way that we do - without guise, without hesitation, without any awkwardness. 

The waiter arrives with the bill. 

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I tell Josh, and he nods, going to pay. When I return, he’s standing at the bar with Danny. 

“Evening Donna,” Danny says. 

“Hey Danny. How are you?” 

“Good. I understand it’s your Assistant Anniversary.” 

“Yes, it is. How do you know about that practice of ours?” 

“I have my sources,” Danny replies, trying to sound mysterious. 

“Carol,” Josh and I assert in unison. Danny shrugs, but we’re right. 

“You should head over,” he continues. “Have a great time.” 

“Thanks Danny,” I smile. Danny and Josh nod at each other, then Josh and I perform the demanding task of exiting the over-crowded bar. 

The weather has cooled outside, and the breeze stirs my skirt and my hair as we cross the road. Josh keeps his hand at the small of my back as we cross the road. There's quite a crowd at the Kennedy Center - I immediately recognize Senators and other members of Congress, and a whole knot of senior DoD guys as we climb the steps. 

Sometimes, I wonder whether Josh really knows how impressive a presence he commands. People in D.C. either revere or revile Josh, but they all respect him. And he's like a celebrity over here - if there was a red carpet, he'd strut it, give an interview with Joan Rivers, smile suavely at cameras, with some young blonde thing hanging off his arm. 

Right now, everyone in the lobby is looking at Josh out of the corner of their eye and making comments under their breath, and the only thing he seems to care about is escorting me to our seats. I tell you, it's enough to make a girl weak-kneed. 

I realize though, that I'm the young blonde thing. 

Josh and I are almost at the staircase when someone calls out my name. I only hear it faintly the first time, and shrug it off. I definitely hear it the second time though, and so does Josh. We frown at each other and turn around. 

Dr. Freeride is back. 


	6. Better Than Perfect 6

**Better Than Perfect**

**by:** Ygrawn

**Character(s):** Josh and Donna, with some ensemble  
**Pairing(s):** J/D  
**Category(s):** Romance, Humor  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Disclaimer:** I don’t own Josh and Donna et al. There are references to real people herewith, and I don’t own them either.   
**Summary:** It's Josh and Donna's Assistant Anniversary. Josh has plans. As usual, they don't work.  
**Author's Note:** I’m Australian, and this was begun before Bartlet’s 3rd SotU. This swaps between Josh and Donna’s POV, and starts with Josh’s. And for reasons that will soon become obvious, 17 People and the disputed anniversary didn't happen. 

* * *

Why won’t Dr. Freeride Just Fucking Die? 

Why can't he fall in front of a train, or get run over by a bus, or have his head taken off by a helicopter blade? Why can't any of these implausible things happen? Is it too much to ask? 

“Donna,” Dr. Freeride says, standing two steps below us. 

Matt - I have to forcibly remind myself of his Christian name - is breathless, like he’s been running to catch-up with us. I look at Donna. Her lips parted are in an ‘O’ of surprise, her eyes are wide, and her body is wound tight as a spring, ready to explode. I want to touch her - to reassure her - but I think it would set her off. 

“I...” she begins. “I...what are you...when...how...” she doesn’t know which question to go with first. She settles on, “What are you doing here?” 

Dr. Freeride sighs. “It sounds crazy but I followed you. After I left, I went back to my hotel, but I realized I had to see you again. I waited outside the White House, and I followed you - I don’t know why, but I waited outside the restaurant. I wasn’t going to come up to you, but now I...” he trails off. His voice is jerky and frenzied, like it’s a physical strain for him to get the words out. 

“You just what?” Donna demands. Oh, dear. She’s about to bring the hysteria. 

“I just...I had to tell you that I still love you, Donna, and I want you back.” 

“I don’t...I don’t understand,” Donna says, her voice beginning to break. “I don’t...” 

“I can’t walk away without knowing for sure if there’s a chance you feel something for me. I know my timing is shocking, but I...I want you back.” 

What? The? Fuck? 

Donna’s supposed to go back to Madison, where her family don’t understand politics and she’d be a doctor’s wife, throwing dinner parties and serving lunch at her daughter’s school cafeteria? Back to Dr. Freeride? I repeat: What? The? Fuck? 

I can’t make the words to tell this guy to get the hell away from Donna, because he doesn’t deserve her. Nobody does. Not even me, if I’m going to be honest. Nobody deserves her brilliance, determination and verve. But I get it. I understand her. Dr. Freeride doesn’t have a clue. He only understands the kind of woman he needs Donna to be. 

“I’m sorry,” Matt says. The silence has disheartened him. 

Donna has a hand on her chest, like her can’t breathe. Maybe she can’t. “I don’t...I can’t...” 

He nods. “It was a mistake to follow you. I’m sorry for disturbing your evening.” He turns and leaves. If I didn’t hate the man, I’d respect him for knowing when to walk away. 

I turn to Donna and reach out to touch her shoulder. “Donna?” 

Donna looks at me blindly. “I have to...” she trails off. 

Then she walks after Dr. Freeride. 

**** 

After seven rings, Sam answers his cell. “Hello?” he shouts. “Hello?” 

“It’s me,” I shout back, although it’s relatively quiet where I am. The stragglers entering the Kennedy Center stare at me. “Where are you?” 

“What? Hang on. It’s Josh,” he says. There’s a pause, and when Sam speaks again, it’s quiet. “You there?” 

“Yeah. Where are you?” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be listening to the beauty that is Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart right now?” 

“Yes Sam, I am.” 

“What happened? Is Donna okay?” 

“I don’t know. She ran after Dr. Freeride, so it’s entirely possible she’s agreed to be his wife and she’s deliriously happy right now.” 

“Dr....what? Josh, what happened?” 

“Where are you?” I ask again. 

“The Elephant and Wheelbarrow.” 

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” I say, hanging up before he can pester with any more questions. 

It’s actually nineteen minutes by the time I get to the car and find a park near the ridiculously named Elephant and Wheelbarrow. I mean, really, what do elephants and wheelbarrows have to do with drinking liquor? I enter the bar, though. It's low-lit, and relatively quiet, and jazz plays in the background. 

Sam and CJ wave their arms around when they see me. They're sitting at a corner table, and a wend my way over there. 

“What happened?” Sam demands, the second I sit down. 

“Did you hurt Donna?” CJ immediately adds. 

Toby looks up from his beer but remains silent. 

“Dinner was fine,” I say, looking over at the bar. “I need a drink.” 

“Not yet,” Sam insists. “Dinner was fine - then what happened?” 

“Dr. Freeride happened. He appeared at the Kennedy Center, as we going up the stairs, declared his undying love for Donna and told her he wanted her back." 

“And?” CJ urges, when I stop. 

I shrug. “Donna didn’t say much of anything, so Dr. Freeride left. Donna ran after him.” Those four words really hurt. 

Sam gives my forearm a quick squeeze. “I’m sorry.” 

“She followed him?” CJ’s eyebrows are arched in disbelief. 

“Yes. _She_ followed _him_. Don’t ask me why, but she’ll probably be serving lunch in the school cafeteria ten years from now, mentally planning her next dinner party.” 

CJ frowns in confusion. “What?” 

I sigh. “Never mind. I’m going to get a drink.” 

“I’ll get it,” Sam says, heading for the bar before I can say anything. I suddenly remember why he's my best friend. 

“You sure you didn’t hurt her?” CJ asks again. “If Donna tells me a different version of what happened, I’ll believe her and kick your ass into next month.” 

Toby finally speaks up. “Men do not have the exclusivity of hurting people, CJ. What makes you think she followed Dr. Freeride to tell her she loves him?” 

I stare at him. “What else would she be doing? Giving him sight-seeing tips for his stay in the District?” 

“You give her too little credit,” Toby continues. “Maybe she was going to tell him what an asshole he was to her. She does spend a lot of time with CJ.” 

CJ grins at the backhanded compliment. “Toby’s right.” She pauses. “I cannot believe I just said that. But he is right. Donna refused to have coffee with Dr. Freeride - she’d hardly do that if she was in love with him.” 

“She still followed him,” I say. Sam arrives with two Sam Adams. “Thanks, Sam.” 

“We should have kicked Dr. Freeride’s ass when we had the chance,” Sam says consolingly. They may be arguing Donna's case, but they're still my friends. And frankly, this whole thing is that asshole's fault. 

“You need to talk to her,” CJ says, finishing her grasshopper. “Donna’s not the same woman she was three years ago. Do you honestly believe she’d go back to him like some kind of subordinate doormat?” 

“No, but doesn’t make me feel any better about the fact that she ran after him, leaving me in the middle of the Kennedy Center with two tickets to the symphony..” 

CJ rubs my arm reassuringly, then asks, “How much have you drunk this evening?” 

I laugh caustically. “I’m not going to get drunk, CJ. I don’t have the energy.” 

“You don’t need energy to get drunk,” Toby says. “Just determination.” 

“So, you guys having a good evening? Anybody stand you up?” 

Sam shrugs. “We’re sitting in a stupidly-named bar, discussing our work because we have no social lives. How good could it be?” 

“We really are a depressing quartet,” I commiserate. 

“Speak for yourself,” CJ shoots back. 

I gesture with my free hand, trying to explain myself. “No, I mean, the jobs we do are so specialized - there’s only one current White House Press Secretary in the whole world. There’s only one Director of Communications and one Deputy. No one else - except for those in the White House - could even begin to understand our jobs. That’s why we sit around in badly-named bars discussing our work and the fact that we can’t maintain a relationship.” 

“Look, it’s the poster boy for self-destructive behaviour,” CJ cracks, before snapping her mouth shut and placing her hand over it in horror. “Oh my god. Oh, god, Josh, I’m sorry.” 

I frown at her in confusion. “For what?” Then I realize. “Oh, CJ, it’s okay. I don’t feel self-destructive. Betrayed, yes. Self-destructive, no.” 

Toby sighs with sufferance. “We shouldn’t sit in badly-named bars discussing our emotions. It’s wrong.” 

I point to Toby. “Ladies the gentlemen, the spokesperson for Emotional Healthiness.” Toby glares and Sam laughs, but CJ grins with unfettered delight. “What are you grinning about?” 

“You said spokesperson, not spokesman.” 

“Josh has a point,” Sam says. “I lost Lisa because she didn’t understand my job.” His mouth twists slightly - it’s hard for him to talk about Lisa. 

CJ nods. “My list of lost relationships is too long.” 

“Most men don’t like powerful women,” I point out. CJ rubs my arm again. “Ah, how many grasshoppers have you had?” 

“This is my third,” she tells me. I exchange a look with Toby and Sam - Flirty CJ is about to appear. When she's drunk, she flirts. It's amusing for a while, and then it's just awkward. 

“What about Ainsley?” CJ suddenly says to Sam. 

“Uh...what about Ainsley?” Sam asks, clearly confused. 

“Ainsley understands your job - you could make things work with her.” 

My eyes grow wide. “You’re actively encouraging Sam to date Ainsley, but you have apoplexy every time Donna and I look sideways at each other?” 

“Ainsley is not my assistant and we work in different departments of the White House, so there would be no problems if we pursued a relationship that was more than strictly professional,” Sam responds. He realizes we’re staring at him. “Except for the fact that she’s a Republican and everything she believes is completely wrong.” 

“Just keep telling yourself that,” Toby says. "Repeat endlessly, every time you get the urge to see her naked." 

“Mandy,” I contribute. “She practically did my job and we didn’t work out.” 

Sam rolls his eyes. “You weren’t supposed to be happy with Mandy. She thrives on unhappiness. She’s not human - she’s probably not even a woman.” 

“I had sex with her - she was definitely a woman.” 

CJ makes a face. “Oh, that gave me mental images I didn’t need.” 

“Our careers ruined our relationship faster than if we’d been lawyers,” I argue. 

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Sam says. “Mandy couldn’t stand the fact that you were smarter, funnier, more charming, more powerful and better-liked than her. Jealously ruins a relationship no matter what you do for a living.” 

“And Sam the Philosopher joins us on his third beer,” CJ grins. 

“Sam the Philosopher does good work,” Toby remarks. “I just can’t access him until the third beer.” Sam glows with pleasure. Toby then vacillates - it’s clear he wants to say something. “Andie,” he finally says. 

CJ’s hand stills on my arm. Sam is looking at his beer as if it’s the most fascinating object in the room. Looks I’ve been the elected the leader in this conversation. “What about Andie?” 

“Andie understood my work, and I couldn’t keep her,” Toby says. 

CJ looks at me with absolute, naked sorrow, and I can feel Sam’s gaze on my neck like a laser, so I have to say something, even though we never get emotional with each other. “It wasn’t just because of you,” I tell Toby quietly. “It’s never just about one person. Or even their job.” 

He rubs his eyebrow. “Yeah, well.” 

“And,” I add, in a louder tone, “We shouldn’t sit in badly-named bars discussing our emotions. It’s wrong.” 

“I don’t like Ainsley Hayes that way,” Sam says. “She believes that a well-armed militia means people running around armed to their eyeballs because the South might secede any day, and then we’d need a well-armed militia. She doesn’t believe in the ERA, don’t get me started on her economic policy, and she eats all the damn time.” 

“Not that you’re obsessing or anything,” CJ smirks. 

“She eats all the time?” I query. 

“I can’t finish a meal when I’m with her. She just starts eating right off my plate.” 

“And when do you have occasion to eat with her?” Toby asks astutely. 

“When we...” he trails off, “When we discuss things, or we take meetings on the Hill, and when...you know what, it’s none of your business.” 

“You’ve been on a date with Ainsley Hayes?” I ask. 

“No! I was in the Mess for lunch the other day and she was sitting at a table. I sat with her and we proceeded to have a series of arguments, during which she ate most of her lunch and mine. That is not a date. It doesn’t even a resemble a date.” 

“But arguing is great foreplay,” CJ points out. 

“I’m ending this conversation now,” Sam tells us. CJ, Toby and I exchange looks and table the subject for later. 

“You parked back at the White House?” I ask Sam. He nods. “I’m ready to go. I’ll give you a lift back up there.” I give him a pointed look. 

“Sure,” he agrees easily. “I’ll just use the bathroom.” 

“I’ll go with you,” Toby says, moving across the room with Sam. 

“You did that very nicely,” CJ commends me. “It was almost subtle, Josh.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I reply, draining my beer. 

“Very good! I might let you within five feet of my pressroom by re-election.” 

“I’d be honoured,” I say. “Do you think I should call Donna tonight?” 

“You should talk to her,” CJ agrees. “But it’s not the kind of conversation to have over the phone.” 

“What happened to the lecture about death by spoon if I so much as think about going near Donna like that?” 

“It’s too late,” she sighs. “I’m your friend before I’m the Press Secretary.” 

“Three grasshoppers and you’re preaching Free Love.” 

“On the record, I will deny this. Off the record, you nearly...” CJ swallows with difficulty. “You nearly died Josh, and then we nearly lost you again, and I think of all of us, you deserve...” she shrugs. “Just don’t fuck this up, okay?” 

“Does your pressroom know you use language like that?” 

“My pressroom knows I often attach four-letter words to your name.” 

I lay my hand over hers. “Thanks, CJ.” 

“You ready to go Josh?” Sam reappears, and pulls on his coat. 

“Yes.” I put my own coat on. “I’ll see you tomorrow Toby.” 

Sam says his goodbyes and we wend our way through the tables. Our drive to the White House is mostly silent. Sam changes my radio to a rock station - U2 is playing, and he hums along. Sam is a huge U2 fan. When we reach West Exec., he turns to me. “I’ll start working on the speech.” 

“The FDA speech? I thought Toby was doing that?” 

Sam grins. “He is. I mean my best man’s speech.” 

I could deny it, although I keep finding that harder and harder to do. 

Or, I could thank the man who followed me a whim, because he trusted my belief in the real thing. I could thank him for sitting by my bedside for hours when I was shot. When I woke the second time, he rested his head against my hip and cried. I used all of my energy, just to lift my hand and rest it on his head. 

I smile. “Hey Sam?” 

“Yes?” 

“My best friend doesn’t know it, but he’s the real thing.” 

Sam smiles in that boyish way of his, and glows with pride. “I love you too.” 

******** 

As I ascend the steps to his apartment I think, _Josh must hate me_. I try to imagine how I’d feel if he ran after Mandy on our Assistant Anniversary and I have trouble breathing. 

I ring the doorbell and wait. After a minute of silence, I consider the idea that Josh is ignoring me. The man can ignore anything if he really wants to. I ring the doorbell again, but leave my finger on the button. He can’t hold out if you irritate him. 

Three minutes later I consider the idea that Josh may not be home. The lights are off, and I can’t see the Audi parked on the street. 

So I’m not bringing the observational skills right now. 

I sit down on the steps and resolve to wait until Josh gets home. I have no idea what I’m doing here. I have no idea what I’m going to say. I only know I have to see Josh. He deserves an explanation at the very least. At the very most, he deserves the truth. I just don’t know if I’m ready to give him that. 

For all the time we’ve known each other, our standard pattern of behaviour has operated like this: Josh does something awful to me, then apologises. I make him suffer, then forgive him. That suits Josh’s personality - he acts without thinking, and has spent most of his life apologising. But I think our pattern has made me self-righteous. I never make room for the fact that I sometimes treat Josh badly. And he never calls me on it. 

Tonight though, I did something awful to him, and I’ve come to apologise. What happens if he doesn’t forgive me? What happens if he justifiably tells me to fuck off? 

I steadily ignore that possibly, and instead, take my heels off and sigh in relief. High heels really are an ancient Chinese torture device. I lean my head against the stair railing and close my eyes, and listen to the sounds of the city around me. It sounds different in the dark - noises come from further away, carry differently. But it's still peaceful. 

That’s why, seven or eight long minutes later, the voice scares the crap out of me. 

“Sorry, we’re full up for the night, but there’s a YMCA down the road.” 

I snap my eyes open to see Josh at the bottom of the staircase. “Hello.” 

“Hello.” He raises an eyebrow. “I presume you’re sitting on my doorstep because you’re destitute and you need food and shelter. And also shoes.” 

I hold up my shoes. “I’m good for shoes.” 

“Food and shelter I can do, but shoes might have been a problem. How long have you been sitting there?” 

“Not long,” I tell him. “Where did you go?” 

“The Elephant and Wheelbarrow - the others were there. Want to go inside? We could do this on the doorstep - I’m sure my neighbours would appreciate the entertainment - but I’d prefer to go inside.” 

I stand, and Josh climbs the stairs and opens the front door. He gestures for me to go first, which is unusual. “Thank you.” 

“Would you like something to drink?” 

He walks into the kitchen. There's a moment of silence as Josh surveys is bare fridge. Then he says, “I’ve got milk that hasn’t passed its used-by date yet. And teabags, coffee and endless supply of water.” 

“Tea’s fine,” I say. I take off my coat and hang it on one of the hooks near the front door. I leave my shoes and purse under it, before walking into the kitchen. 

We wait for the kettle to boil; I watch Josh pour water into the mugs; I watch while he pours the milk into my tea. He walks into the living room, so I follow. I find him sitting on the couch, and after a moment of deliberation, I sit beside him. I make sure to maintain my distance, scrunching up against the armrest. We do all this in perfect silence. 

Josh finally breaks it. “Sam just told me he loves me.” 

I blow on my tea. “Well, having two openly gay men in the Senior Staff should test whether the Bartlet administration is as liberal as the Republicans claim we are." 

“No, we’ve decided to resign. We’re going to live in St. Bart’s.” 

“St. Bart’s. Yet another place you’ve never taken me.” 

Josh sighs. “Are we going to play Places Josh Has Never Taken Donna?” 

“Why not? I’ll start at A.” 

“You did A at lunch the other week.” 

I did too. Josh found my desire to go to Australia amusing, because he pointed out that all they have are poisonous animals and a coral reef that's dying anyway. 

“The B’s it is,” I declare. 

“I’ve taken you to Boston. Baltimore. Birmingham, Alabama during the campaign...Biloxi...Baton Rogue.” He screws up his nose. “Boulder, Colorado." 

“We drove through it. At two in the morning, on the way to Rapid City.” 

“Which is in the Black Hills,” Josh grins. 

I roll my eyes. “Boulder doesn’t count. Neither do the Black Hills.” 

“I haven’t finished yet,” he says. “I like the B’s. Bryan, Texas. And what about that place in Indiana, with the same name as the store?” 

“Bloomington,” I provide, “Which has nothing whatsoever to do with Blooming _dale’s_.” 

“But we went to both Bloomington’s - the one in Indiana and Illinois. Don’t I get bonus points for that?” 

“No. I’m talking about the real B’s, Josh. Barbados, the Bahamas, Bangkok, Bolivia, the Black Sea, Barcelona, Berlin, Bordeaux, Bavaria...I could go on.” 

“Leo’s the one who accompanies the President on overseas trips.” 

“I wouldn’t mind working for Leo. You can have Margaret.” 

“If we’re swapping assistants, I want Ginger.” 

“You’d have to fight Toby in a duel for her.” 

“I’ll get my foil sharpened tomorrow,” he fires back. 

“You like Ginger that much, huh?” 

“She’s efficient, she takes Toby coffee, knocks before storming into his office to demand a raise, her handwriting is neat, and she doesn’t bitch about the places Toby’s never taken her.” Then he looks at me. “Are we going to keep doing this?” 

“Keep doing what?” But I know what he’s talking about. 

“Using banter to avoid the conversation we should have.” 

“What prompted Sam’s declaration of love?” I ask, giving Josh an answer. 

“I told him he was the real thing.” 

“Exactly how much did you have to drink after I...” I stop myself. Damn. 

“I had one beer after you left,” he answers. 

So, I guess that’s the bantering part of the evening done with. “You want to know, don’t you? What happened? And why I followed him.” 

He doesn't pretend any differently. “Yes.” 

“I followed Matt because I wanted to tell him what an asshole he was to me. How he hurt me, how angry he made me, how little he appreciated me. I wanted to tell him the things I kept bottled up for months after I joined the campaign. I wanted to tell him, and I didn’t stop to think. I just ran after him.” 

“What happened?” 

I risk a glance at Josh, but his expression is unreadable. “I caught up with him, and I asked him if he had been happy when we were together. He said he’d been very happy. Then I asked why he had dumped me. He shrugged and gave me some line about how he’d been wrong and stupid. And I was ready to let loose.” 

“But,” Josh says, knowing what happened, “You didn’t.” 

“I didn’t,” I confirm. 

“Why not?” 

I shrug. “I didn’t need to. When it came down to that moment, when I got to choose, I realized it still gave him power over me. Seeing him again confused me, but I’m not a doormat anymore. I don’t need him to know what I felt, because it doesn’t define the person I am.” 

Josh sips his coffee and says nothing for a long minute. 

“I thought you were going to marry him or something." 

“You have that little faith in me?” I ask. 

He shakes his head. “I only thought that for ten seconds. Then I was just...angry.” He shifts restlessly - Josh doesn’t like talking about emotions. 

“I’m sorry we missed the symphony.” 

“It doesn’t matter - I’ve got Mozart on CD somewhere.” 

“It’s not the same.” 

“No. But that wasn’t why I was angry.” He falls silent again. 

“Why were you angry?” I prompt. 

“The same reason I was mad about your date with the insurance guy - Tim? Ted?” he guesses tentatively. 

“Todd.” 

“It...” He’s thinking before he says anything, which is unusual. “It was the idea there’s someone who spends time with you in a way that I don’t.” 

“You’re not my whole world, Josh,” I say evenly. 

“I know,” he immediately replies. “I don’t expect that from you. I shouldn’t be your whole world. You deserve better than someone who can’t even..." 

“Can’t even what?” I prompt, when he doesn’t continue. 

“I don’t like the idea of you with other men,” Josh finally says forcefully. The faster he gets this out the easier it'll be for him, I think. We've always avoided this conversation. “It drives me crazy - ex-boyfriends, insurance guys, the stream of stupid gomers.” 

“Why?” 

“They don’t...they don’t really see you.” 

“Do you see me?” 

“I...” he exhales jerkily. “I don’t...I’m not...” 

“Do _you_ see me Josh? Sitting here, on your couch at eleven o’clock at night, because I couldn’t bear the idea of you being angry at me?” 

“Of course I see you. You’re right there,” he replies facetiously. 

“No, do you _see_ me?” He avoids looking at me. “Do you?” 

“I’m not...I don’t deserve to...” 

We need to do this tonight. Not next week, or next year, because our brains are going to short-circuit if we keep this up. 

“There haven’t been any gomers since Christmas. What do you think that means?” I push. 

“I don’t know.” 

“You do,” I insist. “You do know, Josh.” 

“I don’t!” he exclaims. “Why would I know? How would I possibly - ” 

“ _I_ don’t like the idea of being with other men,” I interrupt. “I spend the whole time thinking about what you’re doing.” 

“Me? Why would you - ” Josh stops himself. “Since...since Christmas?” 

“Yes. And for months before that,” I add. “Certainly not since Todd.” 

“But - why?” 

“Because I knew that night, after the things you said.” 

“Knew what?” 

I sigh. “You were a jerk that night, Josh. You said some awful things to me and I badly wanted to kick your ass. But I suddenly knew.” 

“What?” he prompts. 

I’m either going to do this, or I’m going to run away from it like I always do, and tell myself that now is not the right time. 

But last May, I learnt there never is a right time, because in ten seconds, someone can irrevocably change your life by choosing their right time. And you realize that you don’t get to control time itself, let alone when the right time is. 

So, this is what it comes down to: the first time Josh held my hand while we waited for the South Carolina numbers; the way he counted the freckles on my nose this morning; his message in The Art and Artistry of Alpine Skiing; and the relief in his eyes when he woke up and saw me for the first time at GW. 

So, I chose my time now, whether it’s right or not. “I knew that night that you felt more than you were letting on. More...for me.” 

Josh swings his gaze back to the window. I wait. Then: “Do you want some more tea? I’m getting some more coffee.” He stands up and walks into the kitchen. 

“You don’t get to do that Josh,” I say, following fast on his heels. I'm pushing this further than it can go, but I can't back down now. I can't walk away. 

Josh is leaning against the refrigerator door with his right arm wrapped over his stomach like he has to protect himself from something. From me? From the truth? 

“I can’t have more coffee?” he asks. 

“You don’t get to walk away from me because this is too hard. Of course it’s hard. And you don’t get to pretend that this thing between us doesn’t exist. You don’t get to be a coward because I was brave enough to finally say something.” 

He throws his hands up in another defensive action. “I’m a coward. Is that what you want, Donna? Yes - I’m scared out of my mind.” 

“Of what? Saying that other men in my life make you jealous? Telling me that you feel more than friendship? Admitting to this thing we have - this stupid act of self-denial we keep committing because it’s politically convenient for everybody else that you and I not have feelings for each other?” 

I’m yelling, and Josh flinches every time my voice raises, but I can’t stop. I just can't stop. Turns out there's a moratorium on my patience. 

“I’m not...I can’t...” he shakes his head. 

“You can’t what?” 

“I...” Josh says nothing more. He just closes his mouth and looks at his feet. 

Well, there’s my answer. 

“Forget it then,” I say, turning on my heel and storming through the kitchen to the front door. “Just forget I said anything at all.” 

I yank the door open and leave, without my shoes or my coat. Unfortunately, some time between Josh getting home and now, it started to rain. 

I never used to believe in pathetic fallacy. 

******** 

Donna didn’t even put her shoes on. Or her coat. She left her purse. She just stormed out of here into the pouring rain. 

I’m an asshole. I really am. I made Donna run away. In bare feet. 

So, I walk after her. What else am I going to do? Let her walk home without her shoes, her coat and her purse in the rain? 

Yeah, because I’m _that_ mean. 

“Donna,” I yell, hurtling out my front door and down the slippery steps. I grab the handrail before I fall on my ass. I can see my assistant over the other side of the street, so I cross the road and race after her. “Donna!” I finally reach her. “Donna!” 

She turns around. Her hair is plastered to her face, her dress is clinging to her body, and her mouth is twisted - in anger, sadness or pain, I can’t tell. “What?” 

I gesture at my apartment. “You didn’t take any of your stuff. Come back.” 

Donna blinks. “That’s what you came after me to say?” 

“I...yes.” 

“I’ll be fine Josh!” she yells, walking away. 

“You won’t be,” I yell back, following her. “What are you going to do? Walk home in the pouring rain, in bare feet? Hail a cab with the money you _don't_ have, because you left your purse at my apartment?” 

“What do you care?” 

“Of course I care.” 

“Just leave me alone!” 

Donna increases her pace, but so do I. “No. Come back.” 

“Go away!” Donna stops up short and buries her head in her hands. Her shoulders shake and I realize that she’s crying. “Just go away,” she repeats in a broken voice. 

Oh God. Oh. My God. I made her cry. I'm made Donna cry. I made my Donnatella cry. I’m slime. I am a horrible man. 

“Donna,” I say softly. I want to touch her, because I always want to touch her when she’s near, and it's driving me crazy. “Just come back to the apartment with me.” 

“Why?” she asks in a muffled voice. 

“Because if you contract pneumonia from walking in the pouring rain without shoes and a coat, I’ll have to put up with a temp. You know how much I hate that.” 

Donna looks up at me. Her tears have mingled with the rain. “Pneumonia’s a viral disease and you can’t get it from cold weather.” 

“Well, I didn’t know that.” I reach out to touch her shoulder without thinking. 

She pulls away. “There are a lot of things you don’t know. I didn’t tell you everything about Dr. Freeride.” 

Shit. My stomach does that stupid flip-flop thing. “What?” 

“After I decided not to say anything, he asked why I’d followed him. I told him I didn’t return his feelings, and there was someone else in my life.” 

“Who?” I demand. Damn it. There's some nameless guy to contend with now? Ex-boyfriends aren't enough, now there's somebody new on the scene? 

Donna rolls her eyes. “You’re so stupid!” 

I realize what she meant. I am stupid. “M-me?” 

“I didn’t identify you to Matt, but maybe I wanted it to be true. Maybe I did want...you, to be the somebody in my life. I wanted it to be true one day, next year...whenever. But so much for that,” Donna mutters. 

“Come back to the apartment,” I repeat dully. “I’ll find you a change of clothes, and then I’ll take you home.” 

Donna glares at me. “I can’t believe you!” She gathers up her sodden skirts, and continues walking down the street. She seems to be limping slightly. 

“Damn it Donna, what do you want from me?” I explode. 

She twists back around to me, water trailing down her face and neck, her eyes almost indigo. The streetlight is shining against her skin, lighting up her hair. It occurs to me that I’ve never seen anybody - anything - so beautiful. I’ve never seen anybody look so...real. 

I know what she wants from me. So, I give her the only thing I can. 

“I can’t tell you I love you because it changes everything. I can’t say I love you because you deserve better than a screwed-up, demanding, self-absorbed workaholic who has PTSD. You deserve someone who’ll buy you flowers and chocolate, and remember the important dates. Someone who’ll always say and do the right thing. And if I say I love you, I can never take it back.” 

Donna is holding her breath. “You...you can’t say you love me?” 

“I can’t. So I won’t.” 

“You just did.” 

“I know. I need to work on it.” 

“Are you going to take it back?” 

“Donnatella, I’m a jerk, but I’m not that much of a jerk.” 

“You love me?” 

I sigh. “Yes.” 

She takes a step towards me. “I don’t want someone who’ll always say and do the right thing. I don't want a guy who'll remember the important anniversaries. I want a screwed-up, demanding, self-absorbed, overbearing workaholic.” Her lower lip trembles and her voice hitches. “With PTSD.” She takes another step. “I want the man who gave me a chance when he didn’t have to. I want the man who never treats me like an idiot. I want the man who hid a terrible pain inside him, because he knew it would hurt me.” She reaches me. “Fortunately, you’re that man.” 

Then Donna waits. 

And, because I’ve wanted to do it for three years, I kiss her. 


	7. Better Than Perfect 7

**Better Than Perfect**

**by:** Ygrawn

**Character(s):** Josh and Donna, with some ensemble  
**Pairing(s):** J/D  
**Category(s):** Romance, Humor  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Disclaimer:** I don’t own Josh and Donna et al. There are references to real people herewith, and I don’t own them either.   
**Summary:** It's Josh and Donna's Assistant Anniversary. Josh has plans. As usual, they don't work.  
**Author's Note:** I’m Australian, and this was begun before Bartlet’s 3rd SotU. This swaps between Josh and Donna’s POV, and starts with Josh’s. And for reasons that will soon become obvious, 17 People and the disputed anniversary didn't happen. 

* * *

Ten seconds after his mouth finds mine, I realize I’ve found the thing I want to do with Josh more than bantering. And the man’s tongue should be made an illegal weapon. 

I’ve forgotten about the rain, about my wet clothes and hair, about the painful cut on my right foot (yes, walking around barefoot is a _very_ stupid idea), and I don’t think I could tell you what day it was if you asked. 

You know that moment, in romance novels, when the blonde, blue-eyed heroine finally kisses the tall, dark, handsome hero after seventy-five pages of woeful dialogue? There’s invariably a line during the kiss that goes something like: ‘They kissed and it felt like it was the thing they’d been made to do - like they’d been kissing their whole lives but just hadn’t known it’. 

Those of us with brains groan outright. 

(And I only read one Danielle Steele novel. I got to page ninety, and could feel my brain cells killing each other in protest. So, I read Tolstoy instead). 

The thing is, I’m having that moment. Not in such a clichéd way, but Josh and I kissing feels - apart from amazing - like a different way of saying the things we always tell each other. Our bantering, or the way he touches my elbow, and says my name, are our ways of saying the same things: I love you, I respect you and you drive me to distraction. 

Unfortunately, thanks to biology, we have to stop and breathe. 

Josh breaks away and takes deep gulps of air like he’s a swimmer and he’s getting as much oxygen as possible before his race. I laugh, because Josh and I could never be serious about this moment. 

“What?” he asks, pulling me closer. My dress is making his pants wet, but he doesn't care, so I don't care. 

“Nothing,” I reply. 

Josh strokes my cheekbone with his thumb. “Donna, you need to come back to my apartment, because the cold, wet ground is not the surface I work best on.” 

I frown. “How do you know - ” 

“Don’t ask,” Josh interrupts. I open my mouth. “If you’re a good girl I’ll tell you later.” He takes my hand and pulls me in the direction of his apartment. 

And then it hits me. “We can’t do this,” I tell Josh, coming to a halt. 

“We can't go inside?” he asks calmly. 

“We can’t...” I trail off. I can't quite say the words. Toby's "tempting fate" speech is broadcasting loud and clear in my mind. 

“Sleep together,” Josh provides. He seems to have no trouble with it, but then again, Josh always has liked to tilt at Fate. And windmills. And the tobacco lobby. And Leo's patience. 

I nod though, expecting his insecurities to come roaring to the fore. Instead, he sighs. “It’s pouring with rain out here, Donna. Can we at least go back to my dry and warm apartment to discuss why we can’t do this?” 

He has a point - we’re absolutely soaked, and my foot is probably going to get infected if I stay out here. I nod and we walk back to the apartment. I keep glancing at Josh to make sure that's he's still there, and this isn't a dream, only to find him doing the same thing. We grin at each other and climb the steps to Josh's apartment. 

“We can’t do this,” I say, the second Josh closes the front door behind us. 

“Give me three good reasons why we can’t do this.” 

“One - it breaks White House Employee Policy. Two - the media would be all over it. Three - it would ruin your career.” 

Josh tilts his head. “One - you’re officially fired until I reinstate you tomorrow morning, just in time for Senior Staff. Two - you might be into kinky Donna, but I didn’t plan on inviting the media. And three - I’m not going to let that happen.” 

I shake my head. “It would only be a matter of time before somebody found out, and then the whole world would come crashing down around us.” 

Josh grins again. “I appreciate the hyperbole Donna, and whilst I’m very good, I’m not _that_ good." He tilts his head. "Or maybe I am.” 

I smack him on the head. “Stop being flippant! We work for the President. Of the United States. There are a lot of people who want to see him politically ruined. They’d stoop at nothing because they’re not the good guys. And a white house secretary screwing her boss is too good a story to pass up.  These are concepts I know you understand.” 

"You're not a secretary," Josh says firmly. 

"That's the way they'll spin it, Josh." 

“None of those things will happen, Donna,” Josh repeats. 

I cross my arms. I’m dripping all over the floor and I probably look worse than a drowned rat, but I’m determined to stand my ground. “Fine then. Give me three good reasons why we should..." 

"Sleep together," Josh says again. 

"Yes. That." 

“One - you want to. Two - I want to. Three - I see you.” 

And he undoes me. Just like that, he undoes me. Josh knows it too, because three seconds later he has me backed up against the wall, his mouth pressed firmly against mine. 

This is a completely different kiss. It’s demanding, seeking and challenging, and we get tangled up in each other for control. The coolness of my skin against the heat of his mouth makes me shiver. His hands are in my hair, tilting my head back and changing the angle of our mouths. I pull Josh up against me, and he hisses. 

“We should get you out of your clothes before you catch a cold,” I say. 

“What an excellent idea, Nurse Moss.” 

“We can save that role-play for another time.” 

“I’ve got a lot of things saved up for another time,” Josh tells me in a shivery-evil tone. He nips his way along my jawline, then my neck. 

“You give me a hickey I’ll kill you.” 

It’s like waving red rag to a bull; Josh immediately sucks and blows on the side of my neck. He does it again, to make sure. 

Not that I’m protesting or anything. 

I was serious about the clothing though, and I unbutton his shirt. The job is doubly difficult because our clothes are wet, and the material is sticking to Josh’s body. Having made his way to my collarbone, his mouth is an added distraction. 

I finally get the shirt off, but there’s an undershirt. 

“Crap,” I mutter. 

Josh pulls away from my neck. “What?” 

“Step back for two seconds.” 

“Why?” 

“Because.” 

“I like it where I am.” 

“If you step back I can keep undressing you.” 

“I have no problem with that.” 

He steps away, and I pull his undershirt off and toss it behind him. Josh doesn’t seem to care that his floor will get wet. 

My eyes and hands find his scar at the same moment. I’ve seen it before, of course, in the hospital and later, at home. This however, is different, and Josh feels it too. He watches me with darkened eyes. I gently follow the curving, puckered pink line with my fingers, then bend and press my mouth to the top of it. 

Josh jumps at the contact, but then he runs his fingers through my hair. I can hear his heartbeat thumping against my cheek. I keep my fingers on the scar while I reach back up to kiss him. 

And this is a softer kiss, because I’m trying to tell him every falling apart moment I had; every fear; every time I cried silently in his bathroom with the shower on, so that he wouldn’t hear me in the living room. 

He seems to understand, because his mouth eases over mine with infinite grace, and his hands gently weave through my hair. 

“Hello,” he says, when we break away. “I’m here.” 

“I know.” I smile and kiss his wrist. “I know.” 

And it’s a miracle. 

He kisses me again; and it’s fire. 

However, it takes me a moment to realize that Josh makes out like a politician. Everything is subtle. He waits until I’m fully immersed in the kiss, before he moves his hands over my body. 

That’s why my breath stops short in surprise when his hands cup my breasts. My nipples spring to life against his palms, and he grins. 

“Shut up,” I say. 

“Didn’t say a word,” Josh responds. He makes circles with his left hand, but his right creeps around my back, wandering gently around the expanse. After a moment he frowns, and his fingers start pressing insistently against my spine. His left hand stops moving and stills against my breast. 

I glare at him, before I realize that he’s looking for my zip. Laughing, I guide his hand to the side of my torso. “It’s a side zip, Josh.” 

“Women’s clothing needs a map,” he mutters darkly, sliding the zip down. 

I run my fingers down to his belt. In five seconds, I loosen the belt, whip it out and undo his fly. “I don’t seem to be any trouble with your clothing.” 

In retaliation, Josh slips a hand inside my dress, grazing the side of my breast. His hand is nowhere near where I want it to be, but my body is singing anyway. 

I cup his erection through his pants, and leave my hand there in revenge, not moving it a millimetre. He groans. “Donna,” Josh says, resting his forehead against mine. “There’s a place beginning with B that I’d _really_ like to take you.” 

I grin. “And where might that be?” 

“Bed.” 

******** 

The woman is a Goddess. 

Of course, I realized that the day I hired her, but I now feel qualified to truly state that Donnatella Isabelle Moss is a Goddess. 

I’m having trouble breathing and thinking at the same time. 

She has wrapped her arms around my waist and she’s pressed up against me in divine ways. “Josh?” she prompts. 

“Mm?” 

“Bed? You’re going to take me?” 

“Oh. Yes.” I take her hand and set out for my bedroom. She stops near her purse and collects something. “What’s that?” 

“You’ll find out very soon,” she promises me. 

It seems to take forever to walk to the bedroom. “I’m glad you remember where it is,” she teases when we finally arrive. We stand in the middle of the bedroom holding hands, and look at each other. 

“Sometimes, Donna, talking is overrated.” 

I kiss her, and the leisurely, exploratory pace we’ve been entertaining suddenly disappears. 

Without any trouble, I manage to get her wet dress over her hips until it’s a shapeless, wet pile at the foot of my bed. When I look back up, I realize Donna’s divested me of my clothing, all of it scattered haphazardly around us. 

She topples me to the bed and straddles me. I splay my hand against her stomach and trace the brown mark below her right breast. I’ve never seen it before, but then again, Donna’s never had much occasion to parade around naked in the office before. I wonder if I could change that. 

“Birthmark,” she murmurs. 

I run my hand up to cup the weight of her breast. Then I stroke her nipple, not giving her any time to recover before I take it into my mouth and twirl my tongue around it. Donna stills completely, her spine arches, and her head falls back. 

If I’d known this could shut her up so effectively, I would have done it years ago. I move to her other breast. She seems to recover because her hand trails down over my stomach and in a diagonal line to my hip. Then it slips lower. 

I think I just forgot my name. 

Donna’s hands are hesitant, shy, and almost worried as they graze up and down my shaft uncertainly. I pull away from her breast and look up at her to find her biting her lower lip. It’s so terribly endearing, and I smile. 

Emboldened, she swirls her fingernail across the head of my extremely painful erection. Once. Twice. Thrice. Jesus Christ. I feel like I’m seventeen again, with absolutely no control over my body. But I’m not, and I’m not going to let it happen like this. 

“This isn’t going to last much longer if you keep doing that.” 

“I...oh.” She grins wickedly. “Really?” 

“You really have to stop talking now,” I tell her, rolling us over. I settle my weight carefully. She shifts under me, moving her hips into a more comfortable position. 

I return to my discovery of her body. Placing a kiss on her birthmark, I trail my mouth down to her bellybutton. She giggles as I dip my tongue into it, the vibration unexpected against my cheek. 

I look up at her, resting my chin on her pelvic bone, asking my question silently. In response, Donna sits up on her elbows and parts her knees. I run my finger from her knee down the inside of her thigh and part her folds gently. 

I’ll admit that when I was younger, I was like most young men: a self-centred jerk about sex. We barely know our own bodies, and self-control is a foreign word to our vocabulary. The difference is that some men wake up and get a clue. Donna’s giving me this half-curious, half-astounded look, so I have to show her I got a clue. 

She’s warm and wet and all those other wonderful things that make me want to bury myself inside her, but I concentrate and find her clitoris. I press on it lightly with my thumb, feathering the area around it. I keep doing it until Donna isn’t really breathing anymore, but releasing these mewling noises. 

They’re extremely cute. 

Also frustratingly erotic. 

I let my mouth take over from my fingers, inwardly smiling at the way the noises keep getting louder and jerkier. Her hand lands lightly on my head, and her fingers weave their way through my hair. 

Strangely though, Donna seems to be pulling me away. She’s so close it’s like watching a glass of water fall off the table; you screw your eyes up because you know it’s absolutely about to happen and you can’t stop it. 

Confused, and a little worried, I look up at her. 

Donna shakes her head, her hair in disarray, her eyes bright, her skin flushed. “Not - not like that,” she tells me. “I want...I want you...inside me...” 

My arms aren’t entirely steady as I crawl back up her body. I stop to lick the inside of her wrist, then blow on the wet patch of skin. Donna suddenly shudders, cries out deeply, and clutches my waist. 

I realize, impossibly, that she just fell off the table. 

“Josh,” she exhales, still shaking. 

Her _wrist_? “Uh...sorry?” I venture. 

She laughs huskily. “First time a guy’s ever apologized for doing that to me.” 

I shift slightly and wince when my erection comes into contact with the softness of her inner thigh. I start running through the Governors of Connecticut in chronological order. I am a grown man, and I have control over my body. 

Donna shifts again, but this time it’s malicious, because her deliciously wet sex brushes up against my cock. “Jesus, Donna.” 

She rolls us and holds up a condom. As lightly as she can, she rolls it over my erection, but I barely contain a whimper. Then she raises herself up on her knees and sinks down onto me. 

I close my eyes and stop breathing, because there are no words for this. When I open my eyes, I find Donna looking at me. I rest my hands on her waist, and she starts moving slowly, rocking back and forth and rotating her hips. 

Our pace increases exponentially, urged on by the way my hands move to her hips, shifting the distribution of her weight until it makes me hiss; by the way Donna reaches up to pull her hair off her neck, curving her back and throwing her breasts into relief. By the new and heady rhythm we’re making, because I don’t ever remember sex being quite so primal and connected before. 

It isn’t long before I’m reaching up to meet her, and stroking her where our bodies meet. She plunges down once more and cries out. Her body flexes around me and I do what I’ve been doing for the past three years: I follow Donna. 

******** 

This is the part I assumed Josh would suck at it. 

I mean, not that I ever gave it any serious consideration, but I always figured Josh would be pretty good in bed. It’s his strut, his muscular forearms, the way he occasionally puts his hands on my hip when he’s dancing with me, or hugging me, in a blatant mark of ownership. 

But I figured Josh would suck at the afterwards part. You know, the holding and the snuggling and the making of inane conversation. 

But, after discreetly disposing of the condom - which actually did glow in the dark - he returned to bed, and has lain with me for twenty minutes without a single sign of restlessness. 

“I’m exhausted,” I admit. 

Josh smirks. “So it wasn’t hyperbole.” 

I elbow him half-heartedly. “Not that. Well, it wasn’t hyperbole, but the whole day has been exhausting.” 

He runs his fingers through my hair. “And I tried so hard to make it good.” 

“Yeah, the Fates did conspire against you. The flowers were condoms, Leo organized a health inspection, Dr. Freeride, Joey Lucas...” 

He interrupts. “Were you mad at me for that? During lunch?” 

“When I found the symphony tickets I thought you were taking her.” 

“Do I need to tell you how many kinds of stupid that is?” 

“No.” 

“And can I point out that getting condoms instead of flowers turned out to be excellent forethought on my behalf?” 

“Uh-huh.” I rotate on my hip, and we’re silent for a few minutes. 

Then Josh says, “Do you think Zoey will be okay?” 

“I hope so, but Charlie’s her first serious boyfriend. I can count on one hand the number of my friends who stayed with their first serious boyfriends.” 

“Who was yours?” 

“Stephen Lowry. He was president of the debating club. We dated for a year, and went to prom together. I thought he was a God. Then he met another girl, and fell madly in love. They’re still together, last I heard. I was devastated at the time.” 

“Yes, but you obviously idolise someone else these days.” 

“A girl couldn’t idolise you if she tried, Joshua.” 

“I have a fan club, Donnatella.” 

“They’re college students. They probably smoke a lot of pot.” I roll my eyes, wanting to move on. “And the girls ruined your other present, so...” 

Josh sits up on one of his elbows and looks down at me with confusion. “The girls ruined what other present?” 

I wince. “I’m sorry Josh. The other assistants told me about the raise.” 

“What?” He looks heartbroken. 

“They assumed I knew, so they started talking about it, only to discover that I had no idea. It’s still wonderful, though. Thank you very much.” 

He flops onto his back, defeated. “You deserve it. Budget got held up the other month, so it won’t go through until Friday.” 

“That’s okay.” 

“I should have known. I can’t organize anything properly without you.” 

“The clothes were fine, and the symphony would have been, except for me being an idiot.” 

“You weren’t. I think the only thing that hasn’t gone wrong is the jewellery.” 

Now it’s my turn to sit up in surprise. “Jewellery? What jewellery?” I look intensely at Josh, only to find him starting at my chest. “Josh! Focus!” 

“I am focusing.” 

“Not on that. The jewellery.” 

“Oh...it’s in my coat pocket. But that’s in the living room, and we’re in here, so...” but before he can finish, I leap out of bed, heedless of my nudity, and retrieve his coat. 

“Never tell a girl there’s jewellery in the offing without expecting her to race after it,” I tell him when I return. 

Josh is just staring at me with his mouth wide open. I climb back under the sheets and hand him the damp, heavy coat. “Jewellery, Josh. Surprise the hell out of me.” 

He reaches into one of the pockets and pulls out a black velvet box. “This isn’t just a gift from me. A few months ago, when I visited Connecticut for the weekend, my mother handed it to me and told me to give it to you for Christmas from both of us.” 

“You’re a little early.” 

“Do you want it or not?” 

“Sorry. I want it.” 

“It was my Mom’s, and my Grandma Anna’s before that. My Mom was going to give it to Joanie, but, well...” he trails off and clears his throat. “She wants you to have it.” 

“Oh, Josh. I don’t...I don’t know what to say.” 

“You don’t have to say anything.” 

“I don’t deserve...that’s just the loveliest, most beautiful thing...” I’m getting choked up. “Josh, I’m about to go all girly on you.” 

He grins. “We just had pretty amazing sex - you can go all girly on me.” 

I bury my head in his neck. Josh kisses my temple tenderly. I didn’t know Josh could be tender, but then again, I had no idea he could do a certain number of rather amazing things with his tongue before tonight, so colour me wrong. 

I pull back from him. Josh holds out the box. “You want to actually look at it? Now that you’ve gone all girly?” 

I pull the lid open reverentially and look down at a silver necklace, with links so fine you can barely tell where one finishes and the next begins. Hanging off it is a beautifully worked silver butterfly, with amethysts embedded in the wings. The butterfly’s body is marked by a row of diamonds. 

I lift it out and watch the light catch on the stones. “Josh, it’s...perfect.” 

“My great-grandfather gave it to my grandmother, Anna, when she turned sixteen. He died at Auswitzch a year later. My grandmother managed to get out of Germany with her brother, and came to America, where she met my mother’s father, Huen.” 

I’m still marvelling at the intricate work. “Your mother is amazing, Josh.” 

“You remind me of her.” It’s the highest compliment he’s ever paid me. I reach up and kiss him. 

I don’t know that we’re going to be okay with all of the afterwards stuff. Josh’s issues with commitment; my issues about dependency and neediness; Josh’s tendency to act first and think later; my tendency to obsess, and the problems that come with every relationship: space, attention, intimacy, jealousy, and trust. 

The arguments, because I guarantee you Josh and I will fight; the staff and public reactions to our relationship; the media attention; the righteous Republicans, the stress and tiredness and frustration our jobs create. 

I have no way of knowing that we’ll make it, but after all the crap we’ve gone through to get here, I’d like to think so. 

And if we do make it, things will never be perfect. 

But it’ll be us, which is better than perfect. 

******** 

Donna finally leaves at five in the morning. I know she has to leave, but I try to make her stay as long as possible. Finally, she pulls on a pair of my sweats, bundles up her dress and goes. I’ll see her in two hours, which feels light years away. 

I don’t sleep; I sit in bed and work. I have to read thousands of reports in the course of my job. They’re prioritised, and some are staffed out, but I have to read a lot of them. Although the bed smells distractingly like Donna, I manage to read four reports before six-fifteen, which is mostly because I skim. 

As I shower, I remind myself that Donna and I need to have a discussion. She can’t keep working for me. Leo made that perfectly clear. So, I need a new assistant. I’ll probably hate it and do everything I can to get rid of the new assistant, but I’ll manage. 

Donna, however, loves working in the White House, so we’ll have to keep things secret until we work out what to do. That won’t work very long, because our office is alarmingly incestuous, and somebody will find out. But nothing detracts from my good mood. 

Donna is at her desk when I arrive. “Morning,” she says, her skin flushed. 

“Morning.” It’s a struggle not to lean over and kiss her. Yeah, this secretive thing is going to work real well. “How are you?” 

“Tired,” Donna replies, the corner of her mouth cocking up. “You?” 

“Also tired. What’s on the agenda this morning?” 

“An ‘inside source’ from Senator Murkowski’s office told the Post that Appropriations isn’t going to let 819 through.” 

I roll my eyes. “I knew that four days ago.” 

“The office pool has the personal trainer at 2-1 for the inside source.” 

“Murkowski hates his personal trainer. Never talks to him during their sessions. Put five bucks on his chiropractor.” 

Donna follows me into the office. “You’ve got Staff in twenty minutes.” 

I survey my office, which has somehow become messier overnight. “We must have the elves who come around at night and make mess instead of shoes.” 

Donna frowns at me. “What?” 

“You know, the fairy tale...” I sigh. “You normally know this stuff.” 

“Are you feeling okay?” She reaches up, as if to feel my forehead, but her hand stops halfway. “We shouldn’t do stuff like that anymore, right?” 

“You did it before we...you know,” I point out. “If you stop touching me altogether people might get even more suspicious.” 

Donna smiles. “That’s an excellent point.” 

I step closer to her. “We should talk. About what we want to do.” 

She starts tidying up my desk. “We should, but you have work.” 

“I could blow the whole day off. We could go back to my place, crawl into bed and not come out until dinner.” 

“Not going to happen.” 

“A man can dream.” 

“This morning’s memos are in your in-box. After Staff, you’ve got forty minutes for phone calls, then you’ve got a meeting with State guys.” 

“Okay.” I take a deep breath. “We’ll talk tonight? My place?” 

“Will there be real food?” she asks. “A girl needs sustenance.” 

“It wasn’t hyperbole, huh?” 

“Shut up, Josh!” 

“I’m just saying...” 

“Well, don’t.” 

Somebody clears his throat in the doorway. Donna and I turn, and I hope I don’t look as guilty as I feel. Donna recovers first. “Morning, Toby.” 

“Donna,” Toby nods. “Can I talk to Josh for a minute?” 

“Sure.” She steps out of the office. Toby hovers in the doorway. “I wanted to tell you that Sarah McCreary has resigned.” 

I frown. “Who’s Sarah McCreary?” 

“One of the junior Congressional Liaisons.” 

“Still don’t know who you’re talking about.” 

“Redhead. Annoying laugh. Scarily inefficient,” Toby prods. He’s speaking loud enough half for the White House to hear, and I wonder what the hell he thinks he’s doing. 

“I remember,” I say slowly. “She knew nothing about Congress.” 

“Mm. I thought you should know.” 

“Human Resources will probably handle it, Toby. I don’t appoint everybody in this place.” 

Toby gives me his ‘I’m-working-with-idiots’ look. “There’s an opening for a internal promotion. Somebody who knows about liaising with Congress.” 

Donna and I look at each other, stricken. Toby looks at us and sighs with relief. 

CJ bursts through the adjoining door. “Sarah McCreary has resigned.” 

“They know,” Toby interrupts. 

CJ stares at him in surprise. “ _You_ told them?” 

Toby looks down at his shoes. “Yes. I told them.” 

CJ grins. “Careful Toby, people will think you actually like Donna and Josh.” 

Somebody sprints around the corner and skids to a halt in front of Donna. It’s Sam. He grabs hold of Donna and heaves breathlessly. “Donna, guess what?” 

“Sarah McCreary resigned?” Donna guesses, still staring at me. 

He frowns. “How did you know?” 

“Toby told them,” CJ informs Sam. 

Sam stares at Toby. “ _You_ told them?” 

“Yes, but I don’t like them. I just felt they should...that is..." 

Sam smiles. “I know, Toby.” 

“Donna?” I ask carefully, stepping forward. 

“Would you be okay? Without me?” She meets me halfway. 

“No, but I’d get used to it.” 

“It’s an entirely separate department, and it’s all stuff you’ve taught me about. I know how to liaise with Congress.” 

“You’re excellent at those things. You’re over-qualified for the job. And it’s a promotion.” 

Donna nods. “I’d see you all the time. Congressional Liaison works with the Deputy Chief’s office." 

“A lot,” I agree. 

“And Communications.” 

“A lot.” 

“And we’d still...I mean, you and I would...” 

“A lot,” I say again, grinning stupidly. 

“Josh!” Leo bellows from the hall. 

“Uh...” I look helplessly at the others. “What was the last stupid thing I did?” 

“We can’t keep track anymore,” Toby says sarcastically. 

“Josh!” Leo bellows again, rounding the corner. “I just had an interesting call from Hoynes’ Chief of Staff. Apparently, yesterday, security delivered a basket of condoms from an anonymous individual to the Vice-President.” 

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing, but Sam and CJ don’t have that constraint. Five seconds after Leo finishes speaking, they’re clutching each other and laughing merrily. Tears are streaming out of CJ’s eyes. 

Another five seconds and Toby breaks out into a grin. Donna’s standing so close I can feel her body shaking with the effort to hold the giggles in, and she gives up and joins CJ and Sam. 

I’d actually forgotten what we did yesterday. But it’s funny. It’s honest-to-God funny. And Leo just can’t maintain his seriousness. When he lets go, Leo has a fantastic laugh. 

A few minutes later, we manage to get things under control. 

Leo puts on his stern face. “I have no idea who Anonymous is, but it’s unprofessional and I don’t want to hear of it happening again. Understood?” 

“Understood, sir,” we all say, breaking into grins again. 

Leo looks at Donna. “I’d also like to mention that Sarah McCreary resigned from Congressional Liaison.” 

“So I’ve been told,” Donna says neutrally. “It’d be an interesting job.” 

Leo nods innocently. “Human Resources asked me to do the interviews. I’d like to promote someone with practical experience with Congress.” 

Donna smiles congenially. “I hope you find the right person, sir.” 

“I’m getting the CV’s from Human Resources, and I’m absolutely certain I’ll find the right person.” 

Donna looks at me with bright eyes. “Excuse me Josh, I have to get something ready for Human Resources.” 

“Well, I’ve got Senior Staff now,” I tell her, trying to sound normal. 

I’m going to miss having Donna as my assistant, but I’ll be able to go home to her at night and wake up with her in the morning instead. And I get the feeling I’ll be working with the Congressional Liaison Department a lot more from now on. 

“Okay then.” Donna’s little finger brushes mine. 

“My office,” Leo says. As he walks past me, he pats me on the back. 

Toby follows Leo. When he reaches Donna, he kisses her on the cheek, and then glares at me. “Don’t say a word.” 

CJ looms over me. “You mess this up, I’ll kill you.” With that, she walks towards Leo’s office with Toby. I glance over, and see Sam and Donna hugging tightly. He lets go of her and looks at me. 

“Thanks, Sam.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

“Senior Staff. Go,” Donna insists.

Sam starts pulling me towards Leo’s office, hands wrapped around my upper arm. Sam is surprisingly strong. In a sissy-like way. 

“Donnatella - you’ll be waiting here when I get back?” I ask her.

“Aren’t I always, Joshua?” And Donna smiles. 

So I smile in return. 


End file.
